I'll be with you
by Bluestarshine
Summary: Quinn has a story he doesn't want to tell, memories he'd rather forget, and a heart that doesn't want to feel anything. He's never wanted to feel anything, it's always been easier that way, then he finds her and she changes that. Quinn is uncertain, Carrie is unsteady. He can save her, create a calm in her life, restore the light she once had, but can she save him? Quinn
1. Don't lose your head

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

**A/N: I apologise for the note here but I want to inform the reader that this story will stick closely to the characters in the show and therefore it will contain swearing.**

* * *

The stench of blood is potent as it drifts through the cold air.

He wakes slowly, his head aching, with the feeling of water dripping down his forehead. His eyes are closed, they feel heavy, and for a moment he struggles to open them.

His breathing is heavy, erratic almost, like he's running out of air.

When his eyes open, his vision is blurry with the droplets of water which continue to drip down. He groans as his eyes focus, so he may take in his surroundings.

His hands are chained, in silver handcuffs, to a long pole. He sees now that the chains have dug into his wrists so badly that they are bleeding, and that it is not water dripping down on his forehead but blood.

Quinn draws in a sharp breath as he turns his head, slightly, to the left.

He finds her; Carrie, hanging with handcuffs chaining her wrists to the same long pole. She hangs, her eyes partially closed, only a few feet away from him.

"_Shit_." Quinn curses, under his breath.

He doesn't have time to take in her injuries. First, he needs to stand so he may reach her, then they can take things from here.

His memory is blurry, slow almost, as he attempts to recall how they came to be here.

He shifts his body, so he may stand and not only take the weight off of his wrists but also so he may move down towards her. He tries to stand but stops. A loud, almost uncontrollable, groan escapes his dry, cracked lips as a sharp, burning pain shoots through his right knee.

Carrie stirs.

Her eyes flutter slowly, she sways slightly, turning towards him. Her eyes open entirely, and widen at the sight of him, like she's just come to some sort of realisation.

"Quinn..." she begins, a little too loudly.

She tries to stand but she is weak, she's lost a lot of blood and has also received injuries to her legs. She winces, a grimace appearing on her features, as she finally manages to stand.

"Shhh.." Quinn whispers, soothingly.

It comes back to Quinn, in flashes.

He was in Carrie's car, driving towards Langley, and a truck had hit them; he remembers the impact had smashed the car, tossed them cruelly, shattered glass pieces into their skin, and had left them vulnerable for him.

"He's here, Quinn. He's here." Carrie states, quickly, as she takes slow steps towards him.

Quinn felt a guilt weighing down upon him.

He should have woken sooner, helped her, saved her, found a way out before they hurt her. And it was all too painfully clear that they had hurt her, caused her pain in ways he didn't particularly want to imagine.

His eyes move over her, now, as he is able to take a closer, more detailed look of her wounds.

A bloodied gash runs across her forehead, another down past her ear. Her left cheek is covered with a dark purple, and blue, bruise and her left eye is swelling slightly. She's been struck, in the face. Her lips are bloodied, a small cut runs down them.

Her wrists are just as cut, just as bloodied, as his are. He winces silently at this sight, he hates the very idea of her feeling pain.

His eyes move downwards; there are stains of blood on the sleeves of her jacket, as well as her left pant leg.

He never knew a love like her, like Carrie Mathison, and he was certain he'd never know love after her. But he didn't let himself think that, for a second, that there was a possibility he would lose her and would have to face a life without her. Quinn had decided that such a thing would never occur, he would never allow it to.

He found it hard to admit it to himself, that it was love, even though they had never shared more than an embrace.

He'd never experienced love before but he'd known that love was powerful, it consumed the soul, it left you wanting to spend your every waking moment with someone – this was how he felt for her. Love could exist between two people, if it grew over time, without there being any physical contact first.

She draws in a shaky, unsteady breath.

"Stay calm, Carrie. Stay calm." he instructs.

She was frightened and in pain.

The thought of someone hurting her, causing her any form of pain, was enough to drive him to the point of insanity but he didn't go over the edge, he wouldn't allow himself to go over the edge.

He had to be together, for her.

She shakes her head quickly.

"Stay calm?" she replies, the absurdity of her voice slipping through. "You look like shit, Quinn. How can I stay calm?" she states.

"My looks don't really factor into the situation we have here." he mutters, lowly. "I need you, Carrie, to help me up. My legs have apparently given up on me." he says, quickly.

"Might be difficult, Quinn, considering my hands are chained." she replies.

He curses again, loudly, for momentarily forgetting such an obvious thing.

"We need to get out." he sighs, stating what is painfully obvious.

If they don't get out they could both die.

Quinn swallows tightly.

He closes his eyes, and draws in a long breath of air, before he glances towards Carrie.

What he does next, he does for her.

Quinn pulls himself upwards; using his handcuffs to do so, despite that they cut further into his wrists, he manages to pull his body upwards until he is standing upwards. He manages to grip onto the actual bar with his hands, so to steady himself. His chest heaves heavily, his knee shakes involuntarily.

His moans of pain stay low, she only hears them.

"Move down, Carrie." Quinn instructs.

She doesn't move.

"Move down, Carrie." he repeats, sternly.

She takes a few, sidesteps, away from where Quinn stands.

He takes a step backwards and attempts to steady his feet. He does this slowly but once he is standing without the support of the bar he attempts to break the handcuffs. He spreads his wrists as far apart as he can and repositions them so that when he pulls the chain backwards, and smashes it into the bar, it may break it.

He tries this twice with no real success, the handcuffs don't break.

Despite that his hands are bloodied, he still cannot slide them through the handcuffs.

Quinn closes his eyes.

"It's okay, Carrie." he assures her.

"If we can slide the handcuffs down to the end of the pole," she begins.

"I already looked, there's no way we can get them off." he states. "There's nothing to cut them with either." he says.

Their eyes meet again and as they do, he sees a flicker of fear in her eyes.

Then, he decides what he will do; he will draw the enemy out, taunt them, attract all of their attention to him and only him.

He will strike up a bargain, offer himself and his knowledge willingly in return for Carrie's freedom and safety. But what they don't know is that Peter Quinn would die before he told them anything.

"Hey!" Quinn shouts, loudly.

Carrie's head snaps in his direction.

"Quinn," she curses. "What the fuck are you doing?" she asks.

He ignores her.

"Hey, you mother-fuckers!" he shouts, louder, with an angrier tone. "I've got a proposition for you cowards!" he yells.

"Quinn, Quinn." Carrie says, quickly. "What the fuck are you doing?" she asks, all but crying out.

The door opens.

"We do not strike deals." a man comments. "We've no need to." he says.

"What do you want from us?" Quinn shouts, standing firmly, and holding the man's gaze.

The man turns to walk away.

"I offer myself, my services, and my information to Abu Nazir." Quinn announces.

This is their only wait out; even if he does not come out of this alive, he will still come out of it, and she will be safe and that is what matters to him.

"Quinn..." Carrie cries, a look of horror resting on her features.

"In return for what?" the man asks, without turning back.

"Her release, her freedom, and her guaranteed safety." Quinn offers.

The man disappears from the room, but leaves the door open.

"He won't make a deal with you and even if he did I wouldn't-" Carrie begins.

"It's not your deal to make, Carrie." he replies, with no hesitation, no moment of doubt, and no second thoughts.

He will do this for her.

"Don't feel like you have to save me, Quinn, you don't." she states. "We're in this together." she promises.

Quinn watches Carrie with a look of resignation resting on his tired and bloodied features.

_We're not in this together_, his face says what his mouth does not.

She can't take her eyes off of him, or the wounds which cover him; a deep gash runs down the side of his face, tracing his jawline. Multiple tiny cuts are scattered over his face, dry blood stains his skin. His right eye is bruised, swelling badly, and his nose is smeared with dry blood.

Dry, dark, stains of blood run down his neck from a gash caused by the shattering of the glass windows. His wrists are horrific, she can't look at them for too long without feeling uneasy. His shirt is soaked with blood, as are the legs of his pants.

_I'm freeing you_, his eyes tell her.

She doesn't want to be freed, she doesn't want to be saved, if it means that he will lose his life.

He doesn't care about his life, he cares for her.

Somewhere, down the line, he started to care for her.

Quinn didn't like to get attached, to say the least.

Attachments were unhealthy, uncertain, and they usually ended in someone getting hurt in the end.

There was always an end, this was what he had learnt from his own experiences.

He didn't want an end with Carrie. He wanted everything with her, he wanted to give everything for her, and a part of him wanted to be everything she needed and wanted.

Emotions were a weakness, he previously believed. To care for someone was a weakness but to love someone, with every part of you, had the potential to be crippling.

Love. It was a sentiment he never previously believed in.

She changed his belief, just as she changed him slowly. With her, he was different. He wanted to be better but he doubted such a thing was achievable for a man such as himself, a man who had done haunting things that were repressed inside his mind.

She was better than he ever could hope to be. He always knew this. But there was a similarity, in them, something he saw in her that he once felt in himself. They clashed because they were the same, but the only clashed at the beginning.

They were able to move closer, work better, and trust each other.

Trust, something the foolish partake in.

He considers himself foolish then because he trusts her unquestionable, undoubtedly, and he knows this trust will never fade.

She is unsteady at times, uncertain even, but she is reliable. He can rely on her, he knows this without doubt.

She is a fighter, a believer, and she is strong, perhaps the strongest person he has met.

He will save her and she will continue fighting, she will move past this and she will move past his death.

"I don't want you to do this, Quinn. Please, don't. Don't do this, we can get out of this together." she frantically attempts to reassure him.

He smiles sadly at her. "You don't have a say in the matter." he tells her.

She wants to scream at him, to shout at him, for doing this.

They need to get through this together, they will get through this they will find a way out of this together.

"So, you have a proposition for me." Nazir speaks, stepping out of the shadows.

Carrie and Quinn appear to stiffen up, physically, at his sudden appearance.

"What do you want from us?!" Carrie asks.

"Want? Nothing. What we need, what we desire, is far beyond anything that you could possibly grasp." Nazir replies.

"What could you offer me?" Nazir asks, turning completely towards Quinn.

"I offer my services, my knowledge, to you in return for her freedom." Quinn announces, coldly.

"All that we have planned has been achieved. I have no use of either of you, or your services." Nazir states.

The man who had been in the room seconds earlier reappears with a gun in his hand.

Carrie stiffens up, immediately, but somehow Quinn stays cool, like he knows what is coming, like he knows what he will do, what has to be done.

Quinn swallows tightly, his jaw stays clenched firmly together, his eyes stay focused on her.

"One to live, as was agreed, and only one." Nazir announces.

The man behind him lifts the gun, lowers his finger on the trigger, and readies himself.

"Considering he cares for you, you will be the one to die." Nazir states, turning towards Carrie.

Nazir is speaking of Brody, who cares more for Carrie than he does for Quinn.

Carrie doesn't blink, she doesn't struggle and she doesn't say a word as the gun is directed towards her.

Quinn struggles madly in the chains, attempting to find someway to break free, but when his strength fails him and he cannot break free he uses words.

"Don't shoot her, don't shoot." Quinn insists.

The man glances sideways at Nazir, his finger rests comfortably on the trigger.

Carrie finds herself at a loss for words.

"Shoot me, kill me, not her." Quinn loudly announces. "I offer myself up." he says.

"Quinn, no-" Carrie begins.

"You're right, you're right, Brody cares for her. If you free her, if you don't shoot her, then he will see that you have spared her, he will be loyal." Quinn exclaims.

Nazir seems unconvinced.

"You know what," Quinn begins.

He ducks underneath the pole, his hands still chained, and pauses before he steps forward and tries to lunge forward at Nazir.

If he cannot persuade him, then Quinn will provoke him.

"I don't give a fuck if Brody is loyal to you!" he shouts, angrily. "You're just a coward hiding behind a fucking-" Quinn begins.

Nazir strikes Quinn down, beating him harshly in the face with the back of his fist.

To Nazir, Quinn is a vicious animal, a savage beast, no better than a dog that needs to be put in its place.

Carrie knows better than to release a cry because if she were to show that she truly cared for Quinn it could be used against her by Nazir.

Carrie remains still and empty, not letting on how truly fearful she is, how saddened she is the pain that Quinn is in.

"Fucking cowards." Quinn mumbles, through mouthful of blood which he spits out, as he hangs heavily by the chains which cut deeper and deeper into his wrists.

"That's all you are." Quinn curses, before he spits blood at Nazir.

Nazir shares an exchange with the man standing beside him. The exchange is brief, but they share a look of mutual understanding. The man lifts the gun and aims it at Carrie, his finger still rests on the trigger, but at the last second he changes direction; he shifts the gun in Quinn's direction and fires it.

Carrie bites down on her bottom lip in an attempt to stop herself from crying out so loudly, but still her cry echoes through the room.

Quinn groans.

He hangs heavily, his arms strung up, neither his feet nor knees touching the floor. His eyes are tightly shut, his head hung, his jaw clenched tightly together.

The bullet hit his shoulder, piercing his skin, and it causes a burning, searing pain to spread throughout his body in seconds.

Quinn is consumed by pain in seconds.

"Cowards close their eyes in the face of fear." Nazir states. "They do not confront it as they should, as they need to so to become stronger." he says.

Quinn laughs; a dry, painful, laugh passes his lips as he strains to look up at Nazir.

"You think I fear you?" Quinn smirks, mockingly.

Nazir moves towards Carrie; he reaches for a key and unchains her handcuffs, allowing her to fall harshly to the floor.

"Ensure that she leaves." Nazir instructs.

"Quinn, Quinn no-" Carrie begins, as she tries to move closer to him.

She watches as Nazir removes Quinn's handcuffs, his body falls down into a heap on the dirty floor.

"Quinn, no." she cries, as the man drags her up off of the floor.

Carrie watches helplessly as Quinn is forced to kneel.

He looks up and catches her eyes, seconds before she reaches the door.

"It's okay." he mouths.

The man forces Carrie, at gun point, out of the warehouse.

She does the only thing she can think of doing right now; she runs until she finds a car, driving towards her, and forces the phone from the man's hand. She calls Saul, and Estes, who both instruct her to not return inside.

But she doesn't listen, she doesn't hear those words.

When the phone-call has ended she asks the driver, of the silver vehicle, if he has a gun or a weapon of sorts. After some convincing that she is a CIA officer, he hands her his only weapon; a pocket knife. She thanks him, quickly, before she turns and runs back towards the warehouse.

The knife is small but it's all that she has, all that she can use to save Quinn.

She steps slowly inside the warehouse, her head still blurry, her body aching with each moment but she ignores these aches, she ignores her pain, because she cannot focus on them right now. She must focus on finding Quinn and saving him.

She hears footsteps nearby and ducks around a dark corner, taking shelter behind a small barrel. The footsteps pass in seconds. She moves down the path she vaguely remembers being forced out of.

Carrie hears four gun shots.

An involuntary gasp escapes her lips, her cry for Quinn is what gives her location.

One of Nazir's men find her; Carrie doesn't see them, she doesn't feel a thing, as he lifts the baton backwards and knocks it down into her head, causing her to fall down into an unconscious heap on the floor.

* * *

They find her body first, check for a pulse, and find she is still alive. Her body is carried carefully outside, by one of the men, as the others search the premises.

She is placed in an ambulance and tended to as quickly as is possible.

They clear most of the building until they come across a room in one of the farther corners; the body of an unidentified, unknown, man lies on the floor beside the bloodied body of Nazir. Both men have received single gunshot wounds to the head, likely that they died instantly.

Another body is found in the room, but this man is not dead; Quinn lays unconscious, with bullet wounds and grazings to his body. He is carried out, in a similar way as she was, placed in an ambulance quickly treated for his potentially fatal injuries.

* * *

Carrie woke slowly, with a blurred vision at fast, five hours after she had been taken to hospital. Her wounds had been treated and easily cared for, she had been placed in a private hospital room as had been insisted by Saul, and she had been left to rest as her body was physically exhausted after such an experience as being held a hostage for twenty eight hours.

Saul sat patiently by her bedside, never leaving her side for a moment. He watched her silently, never dozing off or falling asleep. He would wait until she was awake, until he was certain she was well, healed, and feeling up to it before he gave her the news.

Her head was bandaged with a thick bandage, because of the wound she sustained to the back of her head. Tiny red, raw cuts decorated her skin. More bandages covered her face, because of the gashes she'd received. Both of her wrists were bandaged, tightly but gently, with dry bandages. Her cheeks were bruised, swelling slightly, from a forceful hit to the face.

Saul had received more news, in regards to Peter Quinn, only minutes before Carrie stirred.

It was like she knew; knew he was in pain, knew something was wrong, knew that she needed to wake.

"Saul..." she murmurs, softly, as a dry cough escapes her lips.

"Here, drink this." he insists.

He stands and places a glass to her lips, she swallows easily.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

She sighs.

"Shit." she answers, honestly.

Saul manages a small smile. "You look like it." he comments.

He sees a flicker of a smile on her features.

"Always reassuring." she mutters.

"What-I..." she begins.

"You were taken here from the warehouse, Carrie. Do you remember that?" Saul asks.

She nods once and instantly regrets it, her head aches.

Carrie's stomach growls.

"I'll have them bring you in some food – and I'll try to get you something good, none of that crap." he says, having far from fond memories with experiences in hospital.

She closes her eyes briefly.

"What's the last thing you remember, Carrie?" he asks.

Her head aches, pounds heavily.

"Calling in, about.." she begins.

Her eyes open.

"He's dead, Carrie. Nazir is dead." Saul states.

Tears fall quickly onto Carrie's cheeks. She is relieved, and so happy, at this news. She feels a weight gone, off of her heavy shoulders, and she smiles.

"He is?" she asks, her bottom lip quivering almost.

She can't believe it, after all of this time, after all of the lives that he took, after all of the searching he is dead.

Saul nods and smiles. "He is, Carrie. He's gone." he states.

Her smile falters.

"Quinn." she gasps, like she almost forgot to ask about him.

"Quinn, is he- Is he dead, Saul?" she asks, cutting straight to the point like she always did.

Saul hesitates.

"Saul." she says.

"He's not dead, Carrie." Saul says, simply.

The silence reappears, it haunts Carrie.

"What? That's it?" Carrie asks.

Saul frowns.

"Is he hurt? Is he okay?" she asks.

Saul sighs. "He was shot three times, Carrie. He's only just come out surgery." Saul admits.

"I want to see him." Carrie insists.

Saul shakes his head, once. "Not happening. You're not moving from this bed until you eat, drink, and sleep – until you're given the clear to do so."

Carrie shoots Saul a look, like she'll leave the second he leaves her and she'll find Quinn.

"Whenever I'm not here, someone else will be either inside or outside your room." Saul smiles. "Now, let's get some food into you." he says.

Saul stands slowly, he hesitates slightly as he glances back to Carrie.

"This isn't the way we would have done it, we would never have risked your life, or his, but we got him." Saul says, a bigger smile spreading on his face. "Rest, relax. You, out of all of us, deserve to the most." he states.

* * *

**A/N:**

_I'm back with another Quinn and Carrie story because the idea came to me and I wanted to further explore their bond.  
This will explore things deeper, between them and their growing bond, than my one-shot did.  
So, basically, this is a different version of the episode in which Carrie is taken hostage at the warehouse.  
This isn't a one-shot, it will continue as a story and will differ from the show.  
I'm not quite sure about it. I hope that you enjoy reading this.  
Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to continue._

_Thanks for reading.  
_**X**

For Mags.


	2. Secret fears

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

* * *

The air is fresh, there is no stench of blood rising through it, as he wakes slowly from the deep sleep which took him against his will.

The constant sound of a monitor beeping is the first thing that Peter Quinn hears as he wakes.

He doesn't open his eyes, as his eyelids feel quite heavy. He does not shift his body, as it feels quite broken, sore and weak. He doesn't try to move, he knows better to move until he has assessed his current condition.

For quite some time, Quinn stays awake but keeps his eyes closed. He focuses on steadying his breathing, preparing his mind for whatever he may wake to find. He gives himself time to believe the truth, a reality which he never thought he would wake to; he survived the warehouse.

He can't deny that his first thoughts are of Carrie, as he wonders where she is and worries how she is doing.

His eyes open slightly and as he does he almost cannot believe the sight before his eyes; Carrie Mathison, sitting in a chair, dressed in a hospital gown, covered by a blanket, sitting by his side.

She smiles when their eyes meet.

He can't smile just yet, he can't take his eyes off of her face; her eyes, her smile, her wounds.

"Hey," she says, softly, her voice low and raw. "Good to have you back." she smiles.

_Look what they did to you_, Quinn painfully thinks.

Her cheeks are bandaged, covering cuts, and bruised. She looks weak and vulnerable. She's not angry like he expected she might be, if they both got out of this, but then he never really expected or believed that he would make it out of this alive _together_.

"You want me to get someone?" she asks, her smile faltering, when he only gives her silence.

Quinn coughs to clear his throat, the back of which is dry and tastes of blood.

"No, no." his voice is raw. "I'm fine." he insists.

"Well, you look like shit." she smiles.

Now, Quinn smiles.

"I'm surprised..." he admits, lowly.

He draws in a sharp breath of air and closes his eyes.

"You're in pain?" she asks, quickly. "I'll get someone." she states.

"No, Carrie, don't." Quinn almost pleads, his eyes opening instantly.

He looks exhausted and unwell.

The gash that ran down the side of his face, and his jaw line, has been bandaged with a thick, dry bandage. The tiny cuts on his face have been cleaned but not bandaged. His right eyes is still bruised, and slightly swollen. His nose is slightly swollen but the swelling has gone down considerably.

His neck has also been bandaged tightly, as have his wrists. His shoulder, where the first bullet hit him, has been bandaged tightly as has his lower stomach where the second bullet entered.

His right knee, which was not only injured badly in the crash but also grazed by the third bullet, has also been tightly bandaged.

"Surprised at what?" she asks, staying still by his side. "That you're still alive after that shit you pulled in the warehouse?" she asks, her voice unintentionally rises.

Quinn flinches slightly, not from her words but from the pain he feels throughout his body.

"That..." he agrees. "Surprised you're here." he says, finally, after releasing a deep sigh.

"I could say the same to you." she counters, quickly. "You were shot, Quinn, three times." she says.

Quinn smirks; the smile is small, and weak, and almost looks sad as it appears on his tired, pale, worn features.

"What? You think this is funny?" she asks.

"It'd take a lot more than three bullets for you to get rid of me." he answers. "You think it's that easy?"

She shakes her head.

"Don't expect me to thank you, for what you did. It was stupid, Quinn." she states, with a hint of anger in her tone.

"I know." he answers, simply.

"And I'm pissed." she says.

He nods once. "I know." he answers.

Carrie does not believe she has ever had a conversation with Quinn in which he was so placid, so calm, so agreeing to take responsibility.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, speaking slowly, taking his time to say those four simple words.

"Tired." she admits, finally.

She hasn't slept at all since she came in, she was too anxious, too worried, about Quinn to sleep.

He watches her carefully, like he's trying to decode her, like he's trying to understand her expression.

And he does understand it.

"You don't like being in here." he observes.

She smiles again.

"It's not like I have much of a choice." Carrie replies. "I mean, Saul is being Saul." she sighs.

He exhales loudly and shifts slightly.

"It makes you uncomfortable..." he begins.

"Quinn, I don't really want to talk about that." she says, because she doesn't like thinking about what happened the last time she was in a hospital like this.

"I'm sorry.." he says, softly.

She is almost surprised by his sincerity, his lack of sarcasm, but she doesn't mention this.

"Just a few more days." she mutters.

"Yeah, for you." he murmurs.

"You brought this upon yourself." Carrie accuses, manages a small smile.

"Oh, did I?" Quinn lifts an eyebrow.

"Yes, you do. You had to go and be Mr-knight-in-shining-armour." she states.

"If I recall correctly, you were driving the car." Quinn counters.

Carrie's smirk widens. "Don't even try to put this on me, Quinn."

He manages a small smile. "I won't..." he mutters.

"Good." she replies, quickly.

"You haven't asked...If we got him?" Carrie asks, her smile faltering, a slight frown playing on her features.

Quinn's smile fades entirely.

"I know." he answers.

"Can I ask why?" she asks.

Quinn sighs.

"Why what, Carrie?" he asks.

"Why you haven't asked?" she questions.

He noticeably hesitates.

"I don't need to ask, Carrie, because I put the bullet in his fucking head." Quinn coldly replies.

Carrie draws in a sharp breath.

"How?" she asks.

Quinn sighs loudly. "Aren't you tired?" he asks.

"Yeah, I am. I should...I should probably return, to my room." she mutters, lowly, and he can see that she doesn't want to go back to her room.

The room which she will return to will be lonely, and empty, and will remind her of all the painful things she endured when she was last in a hospital.

"Carrie." he sighs.

She looks tired, he doubts she can even make it to her room by herself, and Quinn doesn't want to call to a nurse or a doctor to help her back because then they'll fuss over him, and his injuries, and all that he wants to do now is sleep. All that she needs to do now is sleep.

"Want to sleep with me?" he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

"What?" she lifts an eyebrow.

"I said, want to sleep with me?" he repeats.

"You want me to sleep-over?" Carrie asks.

"Sure." Quinn nods, calmly. "Or under." he teases.

"Quinn." she sighs.

"Yes, sleepover – if that's what you girls call it?" Quinn asks.

"I wouldn't know." she shrugs slightly.

A frown flickers on his tired features.

"What do you mean?" he asks, still carefully watching her.

Carrie hesitates, she sighs softly and holds her hands together.

"Let's just say, I never had many sleepovers that weren't with my sister." she answers, honestly.

Quinn swallows tightly.

"Want to sleepover?" he repeats.

"Only over, sleep over. No under, never under." Carrie says.

Quinn scoffs.

"Carrie Mathison," he sighs. "I'm offended. What kind of man do you take me for?" he asks.

She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her features, as she stands slowly from the chair.

"Here we go." Quinn says.

He extends his hand to her, so she may take it and easily slide down into bed beside him. She takes his hand slowly, Quinn moves over in bed so she may fit beside him.

He keeps his lips tightly pressed together to muffle the groan which threatens to escape as he shifts his body. The pain is almost at the point where it is overwhelming but he doesn't let on.

Quinn exhales deeply as Carrie rests down in bed, beside him. He'd moved so she could have more of the bed, more of the pillow. She lies on her back, as does he.

He stretches forward, to pull the blanket over her, but stop as small moan of pain escapes his dry lips. He sets himself back down, stiffly, onto the pillow and glances at Carrie who is already watching him.

Quinn releases a loud sigh.

"You must trust me, then." he states.

She frowns slightly.

"What?" she asks, as she slides underneath the blanket.

She pulls it up over herself, and then pulls it over Quinn, before she settles into the pillow.

"You're sleeping in the same bed as me. I'd call that trust." he says.

"Do you trust me?" she asks.

He smiles, and the smile is intended to be a nice one but comes off as an exhausted, sleepy one.

She understands his look, his expression, and he understands what he means even if he doesn't say anything.

Peter Quinn doesn't trust anyone.

His eyes begin to close, slowly, and he feels that he is drifting off quickly.

As he feels himself falling asleep Quinn thinks to himself, _What a pair we make._

* * *

Quinn wakes to a dull room.

A dark, dimly lit, room.

The blinds have been closed and the light that had previously been on has been switched off.

He glances down and finds Carrie still resting beside him; her eyes are closed, her hair is back off of her face, and her lips are parted slightly.

Her bruises look worse, and such a sight causes Quinn to swallow tightly.

To call the pain that Quinn feels horrible would be an understatement.

It is unbearable, almost insufferable, and he finds himself longing for some relief but he doesn't stir, he doesn't call for a nurse, he doesn't move an inch as he doesn't wish to wake Carrie.

He rests his head back down against his pillow, draws in a very long, almost painful, sharp breath of air before he exhales and shuts his eyes.

He hopes sleep will bring him peace, some form of relief.

But it doesn't because sleep doesn't come at all.

He lays with his eyes closed, almost at the point of begging for sleep as he is so exhausted, for hours.

Then, she wakes.

She stirs slowly.

His eyes flicker open because he'd just been resting his eyes.

She wakes slowly, her eyes move carefully over the room, before she glances up at Quinn and finds him watching her.

She knows already, he looks irritated. He looks unwell, like he hasn't slept properly, and Carrie feels an immediate guilt.

She slept perfectly, better than she has slept in quite some time, and she slept so well because she wasn't alone in a hospital room.

"Morning." Carrie says.

"It's afternoon, actually." Quinn corrects her.

She manages a small smile. "How'd you sleep?" she asks. "You look like shit."

"Ah, Carrie." Quinn sighs.

"Never one to sugar-coat it?" he replies. "Never change." he says.

She takes it as sarcasm but what she doesn't know is that he means it; he never wants her to change who she is.

"Is it because of me?" she asks, meaning is his terrible sleep because of her.

Quinn's sudden smile surprises Carrie.

"Yes, Carrie, it is your fault." he answers, loudly and sarcastically.

"No." he says, finally.

"It's not your fault." he murmurs, his eyes closed, his hands holding on to the railing at the side of his bed.

Carrie moves slowly from the bed, feeling Quinn's eyes on her, taking in every detail, every move that she makes.

"You don't have to leave, Carrie." he sighs.

"Yeah, I do, because you have to be seen to by a doctor." she states, as she stands by the edge of his bed.

She stretches her legs, quickly, before she begins walking towards the door.

"Oh," Quinn sighs.

"Carrie?" he calls out.

She turns around.

"Saul's been in, he's pissed off but said he didn't want to wake you." he states.

Carrie sighs loudly.

"I told him it was your idea, to stay in here, so prepare for the scolding of your life." he says, coolly.

Carrie rolls her eyes and leaves Quinn, in darkness and in pain.

His body aches.

He cannot deny that he is relieved when Carrie leaves, only so he may close his eyes and release the deep, choking sigh he'd been holding at the back of his throat. He tries to focus on something, anything, other than the pain but it consumes him.

His grip on the railing, of his bed, tightens as the pain worsens.

_The pain will pass_, he tells himself.

But sometimes, despite how badly you long, plead, and pray for it to, the pain doesn't always pass. Sometimes, it lingers, it stays with you always and you soon become so accustomed to it, and it becomes such a part of you, that you soon become numb to it.

* * *

Quinn's eyes stay tightly closed, even as the door to his room is opened.

He believes it is a nurse, checking in on him, and his condition, so he keeps his eyes closed but he knows within seconds, even with his eyes closed, that it is not a nurse but rather someone who should not be out of their bed.

"If Saul catches you out of bed, you're fucked." Quinn states, eyes still closed. "You don't want to poke the bear again." he comments.

Carrie smiles.

"He went home for the night, said he's coming back in the morning." she answers.

Quinn's eyes flutter open slowly and he finds her, sitting on the same chair by his beside, dressed in the same gown, hair soft and clean like it was washed hours earlier.

"You were sleeping?" she asks.

Quinn shakes his head.

He is tempted to ask her what she is doing in here, in his room, but he already knows the answer; she can't be in her room, alone, for too long without feeling all of the pain which she endured during her last time in a hospital.

"Have the doctors been in?" she questions.

Quinn nods.

"What's the diagnosis?" she asks, her concern clear in her voice.

Her eyes flicker slowly over his wounded body before she lifts her eyes to finally meet his.

He smiles, and it is a small and surprisingly soft smile.

"I'll be fine, with time." he answers. "And you?"

Carrie nods quickly. "Good. I'm good." she replies.

Silence follows; a cold, empty silence, which Carrie eventually breaks because she hates the silence.

"How's the pain?" she asks.

Quinn grimaces, but passes it off as a smile.

"I don't feel a thing." he answers.

It has been years since he has allowed himself to feel something real, something true, and he knows that what he feels for Carrie is true but he knows, sadly, that nothing could ever happen between them.

She deserves a better man than he, he knows this, he has accepted his past, his demons, and he accepts that she deserves someone good.

Peter Quinn does not believe he is a good person but she is, Carrie is good in so many ways. She is honest, loyal, determined and she is courageous in the face of fear. He believes he is a coward for not allowing himself to feel anything. But he can't change his ways, even if he'd wanted to, because he has been this way for so long, he has felt nothing for so long, that to feel something real, to feel anything at all, is something he believes is unachievable.

Quinn sighs.

"I'm tired, Carrie." he admits, murmuring the words, his eyes carelessly flickering over the windows at the side of the room.

He doesn't look at her.

She nods but frowns.

"Okay, I'm sorry." she says, standing slowly from the chair. "I'll see you in the morning." she smiles, casting one long look over Quinn before leaving him to his dark and empty room.

* * *

Carrie is discharged the following day, from the hospital, with strict instructions to take it easy. She walks out of her room with some minor cuts and bruises, which will heal completely in the coming weeks if the wounds are properly bandaged, cleaned, and tended to.

She steps inside Quinn's room, on the day that she is leaving, but finds he has his back to the door and so she assumes that he is resting and she leaves him to rest.

When she returns the following day, she finds him awake; he looks worse, resting on his back, his hands placed on his chest, his lips parted, his eyes staring emptily out of the window. The tray of food at the end of his bed is untouched, the window is open and a cold draft is coming through.

When she enters the room, he turns to her and manages a small smile.

She's dressed in a dark navy shirt and black jeans. Her blonde hair is out, softly, by her side. She smiles at him, the light appears to be back in her eyes and it is a sight that Quinn will not forget.

"You're free?" he asks.

She smiles. "Since yesterday."

She moves towards the open window and shuts it, stopping the cold draft from entering the room.

"Lucky woman." he replies, watching her every movement.

"Do you know when you'll get out?" Carrie asks.

Quinn's smile falters slightly.

"Few days, I think." he replies.

Carrie nods once. "Is there anyone that I can call for you?" she asks.

He frowns.

"I'm sorry?" Quinn asks.

She sighs.

"My dad, and my sister – the hospital called them, Saul did, but you didn't.." she begins.

"No, Carrie." he answers.

At first, she seems confused.

"There's no one to call." he replies, closing his eyes slowly.

Carrie stands still for a moment, her hands by her side, her eyes resting on Quinn.

"Quinn, I-" she begins, to apologise for asking.

But he doesn't allow her to apologise because there is nothing for her to apologise for.

Peter Quinn is solely responsible for the lack of ties, bonds, friends and family in his life. He is responsible for his current state, just as he is responsible for his lonely life, and he won't allow her to apologise for anything.

"Don't." he says, quickly.

She bites down on her lip.

"I'm tired, Carrie." Quinn sighs, eyes still tightly shut.

She nods.

"Okay." she answers. "Take it easy. I'll see you in a few days." she says.

As she reaches the door, she _just _catches his response.

Quinn murmurs, lowly, "Mm."

* * *

Carrie doesn't see Quinn in a few days.

Quinn is discharged from the hospital five days later, against the doctors orders.

He barely makes it to the fifth day without being fed up of being in the hospital. He insists that there is no one to call, for him, and makes his own way to his home - but you can't really call an abandoned apartment that you're squatting in, with no furniture, home.

Quinn leaves the hospital with a crutch underneath his right arm, a sling over his left arm, and various bandages covering his body. He leaves with a prescription of medication for the pain which he feels with each movement, each breath, but the pain that he would never let on that he was feeling.

Carrie comes back to visit Quinn, she returns to his room, but finds him gone and his room occupied with a new patient. When she inquires at the reception desk, she is told Mr Peter Quinn left the day earlier.

Carrie calls Quinn first, but is not surprised to get his answering machine the moment after she dials. His phone has been switched off, or destroyed.

She calls Saul next, believing that he might have had words with Quinn – and to her surprise, Quinn did call Saul.

Quinn called Saul from a phone outside of the hospital. He was brief, on the phone, and told Saul that he had requested leave and it had been accepted. The amount of leave which he was taking had not been determined and even as he was questioned by Saul about it, Quinn had been evasive before he had eventually run out of coins and so the phone call had ended.

Carrie didn't understand why Quinn would leave, when he knew she was coming to visit. She understood that he would need leave, because of his injuries, but what she didn't understand was why he left the hospital so early when he clearly needed to be cared for.

Quinn needed to know that someone cared for him, she cared for him.

But it was too late for her to tell him that now, it was too late to thank him for saving her life, because Peter Quinn was gone, he'd vanished from the air, and she had no idea where to begin searching for him.

* * *

**A/N: **

_Hi all! Firstly, I'd just like to thank everyone who takes the time to read my story, it truly means so much to me._  
_Thank you very much;** indigovioletstargazer, CSI Encyclopedia,LilMisfit5290, Violet** & **both of the guest reviewers** who reviewed my story. _  
_Your support and your reviews mean a lot to me, so thank you all for your kindness.  
I apologise not only for the lateness of this update but also for any spelling errors.  
I'm not overly happy with this chapter, it's a little shorter than the last but it felt right ending it how I did..  
Despite all of this, I still hope that you enjoy it._

Dear guest reviewer, Guest; who posted on chapter 1 on 4/24/13: (I just listed the dates so you would know who I was talking to)  
Hi, guest :) Thank you very much for reading and reviewing my story. I'm so happy to read that you loved it, those kind words really boost my confidence about this story so thank you and I do hope that you like this new chapter. Thanks. x

Dear guest reviewer, Violet:  
Hi, Violet :) Thank you so much. It makes me so very happy to read that you thought it was awesome, thank you for reading and reviewing and for being very kind and enthusiastic about my story. I hope you find this chapter just as awesome. Thanks for reading. x

Dear guest reviewer, Guest; who posted on chapter 1 on 4/23/13:  
Hi, Guest! :) Thank you for not only taking the time to read my story but also reviewing it, and thank you for your kind words and calling my story well written. I do hope you enjoy this new chapter. Thank you. x

* * *

_Enjoy.  
_**X**


	3. Forgotten actions

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

**A/N: I apologise for the note here but I want to inform the reader that this story will stick closely to the characters in the show and therefore it will contain swearing.**

* * *

Peter Quinn draws in sharp, raspy, loud breaths of air as he takes small steps, hobbling slightly on his crutch, around the new apartment which he has found himself.

It is a small, dirty, one bedroom apartment but it is all that he needs.

The shower, in the furthest corner of the room, works. The water varies between hot and cold but that doesn't bother him. The woman who owns the building nearly gave him the room for free, considering the state of it. Thin, white curtains, which are torn and frayed, hang above closed windows.

The room is musty and dirty. It needs a clean but he doesn't have the will to clean it when he will be moving on in a couple of days. He picks the cleanest corner of the room, beside the shower, and he sets up his bed.

He groans loudly as he attempts to set up his bed, he finds slight difficulty doing so with only the use of his right arm but he still manages to successfully set it up.

He lowers himself down onto the bed, so very slowly and carefully, while holding onto the crutch still. He sits down on the edge of the mattress first before he begins to reposition his body so he is lying flat out.

His body aches, the pain is raw and throbbing, and so he reaches for his nearest bag and searches through it until he comes across the pills which he picked up on his way to the apartment along with the bottle from the hospital.

Quinn swallows a small handful, from each, with a mouthful of water from the bottle in his bag and then rests down against the bed. He rests flat on his back, his hands fall onto his chest, his eyes quickly close and he allows sleep to take him as it seems that sleeping is the only release that he can find.

* * *

Carrie wakes slowly, to a warm afternoon light that slips through the curtains and falls peacefully onto her. She rests on her couch, a blanket covers her body, a pillow keeps her head up.

She stirs slowly, her eyes flickering around the room.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed until her bare feet are set on the cold floor. She reaches for the glass of water from the table and drinks all of the contents, as she woke with a very dry throat.

She closes her eyes as the cold water runs down her throat, soothing the raw pain which she'd previously felt.

Carrie stands from the couch, folds the blanket and places it beside the pillow, and moves towards the set of stairs. She takes them slowly.

She walks towards her bathroom and as she reaches it she turns the handle and steps inside, moving towards the shower. She turns on both the hot and cold handles, sticking her hand underneath until she is content with the temperature.

Next, she strips herself of the bandages that cover her body. Then, she removes her clothes and steps carefully inside the shower. The water is warm, not too hot, and it soothes her aching body. She washes at her skin, scrubs at the bruises that are yet to fade, and gently wipes away the dry blood that had formed around her wrist after she accidentally hit it against a bench-top in the kitchen.

After her shower she wraps a long, green towel around her body and ties it there. Next, she dries the parts of her skin which require bandages still, which is really only the two cuts on her wrists from the handcuffs and a cut on her face. She smoothes ointment over the cuts and then places dry bandages over them.

As she looks over the cuts on her wrists, which are healing slowly, she cannot help but to think of Quinn and wonder where exactly he is, at this very moment.

She wonders what he is doing, how he is doing, and how his wounds are healing. Above all, she wonders who is caring for him. He was hurt, badly, and she knows him well, too well, so she knows that he won't be taking the best care of himself.

But she tries to convince herself otherwise because it stops her from worrying in her every waking moment.

She dresses into a long pair of brown pants and a baggy grey top, sliding a brown sweater on-top. She combs out her hair with a comb and ties it back. She pulls on warm, woollen socks and reaches for a book on her bedside.

She believes reading might take her mind off of the fact she can't work for a few more days, because of Saul's orders. She also believes reading may stop her from constantly thinking about Peter Quinn and the state he may be in.

* * *

Quinn tries not to touch too much in the bathroom as he vomits into the toilet bowl. He vomits several times, until the feeling eventually passes.

He pulls away from the bowl and back towards the tiled walls. He leans against it, longing for an icy, cold, surface to lean his burning body against.

His head is hot and sweaty, beads of sweat trickle down and fall onto his neck, his chest burns, he feels uncomfortably warm, and he longs to take an icy shower but finds that he cannot summon the strength to do such a thing.

Quinn sighs exasperatedly.

Peter Quinn is worn down, he is tired, he longs to sleep but it does not claim him, he longs for a release from the pain but it comes slowly and only lasts for hours, which is never enough.

He wants to escape from this building but finds he doesn't have the strength to do so.

He shuts his eyes, he thinks of her.

A small smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, as he believes that she will already be at work again. The smile fades, before even forming entirely.

He will return to work soon, because he's almost certain that Nazir had more men in that warehouse. Quinn never intended to take too long off of work, he just needed time and when questioned about it by Saul, he didn't know what to say.

He would take only a few days off of work, and then he would be back and everything would return to how it was. The pain would fade away, because he didn't feel it before, because he didn't let himself feel it until it was overwhelming, until it reached the point where he felt nothing but pain.

This was how he felt now, as he lay weak, on the floor, in the corner of a dark and dirty room.

He was alone again, and in these times of loneliness it all returned to him; suppressed memories, forgotten thoughts, shouting voices, shrieking cries, sharp pains, aching bruises, snapped bones, dripping blood.

It all returned and he let it.

He let it return and he let it take him for he did not, in this moment of desperation, have the strength to fight it.

* * *

_Four days later._

When she enters, she finds him and it is almost a sight she cannot believe is real.

Four days.

Peter Quinn had disappeared, he had been a ghost, for four short days and now he had returned, much to her surprise, but he was almost a ghost of his former self as he stood before her in his dark pants, a long sleeved navy shirt and black shoes. His left arm was still in a sling but he had no crutch, only a brown wooden cane in his right hand.

He smiles at her as she enters, but at first she doesn't smile back.

He doesn't wear any bandages on his face or neck, his scars are red, raw, and fresh for all to see. The swelling around his eyes has gone down but the bruises around his eyes remain and have only grown darker, the corners of his eyes are a bright, painful red.

"That bad, huh?" he asks.

She frowns.

"There's a coffee, for you," he gestures towards a nearby table. "Saul wants you in with Roya, when you're ready." he adds.

Her frown deepens. "Where have you been?" she asks.

"I took leave, Carrie." he answers.

"Four days isn't leave." she counters.

"It is. Now, come on, drink up so you can go in with Roya." he instructs.

Quinn takes a slight step towards Carrie, using his cane to support the right side of his body.

"You sure you're okay?" she asks.

Quinn smiles and nods. "Like I said, you can't get rid of me that easily."

Carrie steps past Quinn slowly, holding his gaze as she does, and once she is gone from his sight, once she has reached the cup of coffee at the table and begun drinking from it, Quinn closes his eyes.

He closes his eyes and swallows tightly.

He exhales slowly, ignores the pain which his body is causing him, ignores the pain that arises when he looks carefully at the wounds on Carrie's wrists, or the bruises and cuts that still mark her skin.

She looks better than she did when he last set his eyes down upon her; her bruises have faded slightly, the cuts on her body have begun healing and so they are smaller and appear less severe, she looks well but the scars remain, the bruises still linger, and seeing them on her skin, knowing that these markings are the result of pain being inflicted on her, brings Quinn a great deal of pain.

This pain almost controls him.

But he stops it from controlling him entirely, because he will not be controlled by it again, he will not be controlled by his feelings.

It is his mind, his body, his thoughts, and his emotions and he will control them how he wants to.

* * *

The day moves slowly.

The interrogations take their time, as it was believed they would, and they make little to no progress.

Quinn tires easily, far more easily than he ever used to.

But Peter Quinn is a proud man, who would never admit such things, would never allow others to believe such things for a moment, and so he holds his exterior strong, keeps it there, pretends as though he isn't longing for an escape, for a long and empty sleep because in the emptiness he feels nothing.

But Carrie finds him, once her day is done, and he almost doesn't want the darkness to take him, almost doesn't want to be left in emptiness just yet.

He chooses her.

"You got any plans for dinner?" she asks casually.

Quinn considers her words. "Nope. Not so far." he replies.

And he leaves it at that, like he wants her to ask for it, wants to place her into the situation of asking him out.

"Want to get something together? Some drinks, maybe..." she suggests.

Quinn smirks.

This was what he wanted.

"Carrie Mathison, are you asking me out?" he teases.

She nearly blushes.

"If you want to go back to your shit-hole and eat by yourself, that's fine with me." she jokingly replies, without a second though, without even considering the words.

Quinn's smile noticeably falters, but it doesn't disappear entirely.

"Hm." he smiles, like he's amused by her words.

But he isn't amused, he doesn't feel anything, he knows that he doesn't have a home, that he moves constantly, that the quality of the places he finds continuously deteriorates.

He knows that he often sleeps in shit-holes, overrun by water and mud, that he sleeps in his sleeping bag on the cold ground, bottles surrounding him, the cold air seeping in, with nothing but a blanket and a book.

He knows who he is, he is a drifter, and so it is only fair that she called him on it, that she spoke of it, that she didn't pretend he was anything but the man he is.

"Oh, shit, Quinn. I didn't mean it." she sighs.

"Yes, you did." he replies calmly. "But it's okay. It's the truth. Carrie Mathison would never say anything but the truth, right?"

She shrugs slightly.

"So, where were we? You were asking me out?" he tilts his head to the side, the playful smile returning, shielding what truly lies beneath.

"I was thinking some drinks, steaks, or something..I know this place around the corner." she answers.

Quinn nods once. "Sounds good to me." he says, his grip tightening on the cane resting firmly in his hand.

"Let's go."

They arrive at the bar to find that it is particularly busy, however they do manage to find a table in the far corner of the room; a small booth, seating only four at the most.

Carrie slides into the farther side of the booth with ease.

Quinn, on the other hand, takes a moment to sit down, to adjust his body and settle in.

"You okay? You need help?" Carrie asks softly, her eyes quickly flickering over him. "Is there anything I can do?"

Quinn angrily shoves his cane down on the ground.

He is frustrated with his body, how pained he is and how the pain rarely ceases.

He sighs loudly as he lifts his hand to his forehead. "I'm not a fucking invalid, Carrie." he begins.

"I just...I'm just sore. And I need a drink." he grumpily states.

She hesitates.

"Pick your poison." she says, moving slightly out of the booth.

"Whiskey, neat." he sighs.

Quinn watches silently as Carrie gets out of the booth, kneels down and picks up his cane. She rests it against the end of the table, smiling briefly at Quinn as she catches his gaze, before she leaves to order their drinks and meal.

Quinn releases a deep, long sigh of air before he reaches into the pocket of his pants, pulls out a bottle of pills, unscrews the lid and swallows nearly half of the contents.

He didn't have a single moment alone today, as the interrogations were full on and he was mostly required to sit in or be by Carrie's side, and so now was his first chance to take the medication which he needed to ease his pain.

When Carrie returns, Quinn is almost like a new man, like a changed man, but he knows the truth, that he could never be a new or changed man, that such an opportunity will not befall a man such as he, for he is not deserving of being a new person, or a changed one, after the life he has lived and the things that he has done.

"Thanks." Quinn smiles pleasantly.

Carrie returns the smile, but her smile is more uncertain, like she's unsure if he will snap again, if he will be in a better mood, or if she should just leave him to his bad mood.

"Carrie..." Quinn sighs, after swallowing a large mouthful of whiskey.

"Don't." she says, quickly. "I'm sorry, for being so full on. I'm just- I'm worried about you, Quinn. You were shot. You're pretty fucked up, and I was just worried."

"I'm sorry for being a dick." Quinn murmurs.

"Yeah, well, nothing new." she teases, her grin widening.

Quinn laughs, and it is the first real laugh she has heard escaping his lips in quite some time.

"Have I told you to never change?" he asks, tilting his head slightly sideways.

Carrie nods once before she swallows from her own glass of whiskey.

"Oh, yes." Carrie smiles. "Various times. I may be completely off, but I think by telling someone not to change means you like them the way they are, that they're bearable – I think? I mean, that's what I'm taking away from it. I don't know what you think, if you think I'm bearable...I don't.."

Quinn's smile remains. "Fuck, Carrie, as if you're not bearable."

"Really?" she asks, a painfully clear uncertainty in her eyes.

"Is the confident Carrie Mathison suddenly insecure?" he narrows his eyes.

His smile remains but his question is serious.

"Yeah, I mean...Sure. I'm bearable. But I mean, I take a look at my life, and the only people that stick around are-"

"Are what? The fucked up ones? The damaged ones? Yeah. You're right, Carrie. Damaged usually draws in the damaged but that's how you relate with them. The people in your life are there because they want to be, not because they have to be. Don't base what you think of yourself in regards to the number of people you have in you're life. You're bearable, Carrie. Who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks?"

"Did Peter Quinn really just give me advice? And, if my hearing serves me correctly, a compliment somewhere in between?" she smiles sweetly.

Quinn rolls his eyes once. "Your hearing isn't serving you correctly," he quickly counters. "It's failing you, actually. When I said bearable, I meant unbearable."

She grins still. "Oh, yeah, like you're Mr. Fucking bearable."

"Hey." Quinn momentarily feigns offence.

And then he smiles. "You have a point. Drinks are on me."

He moves to stand, but as he does Carrie also moves.

He meets her gaze instantly, almost a warning in his eyes.

"Carrie..." he says, softly yet sternly, like he's trying to tell her that he is still capable.

"I'll have another whiskey." she smiles, settling back in against the booth.

Quinn's smile returns. "While I'm gone you can work on your apology."

"My apology?" she laughs loudly.

"Yeah," Quinn starts, as he reaches for the cane and pulls himself upwards.

He grips so tightly on the handle that his knuckles begin to turn white.

"You offended me, deeply, Carrie. Start working on it." he smirks.

When Quinn returns to Carrie, he finds her smiling, waiting silently for him.

He returns with no drinks, as there was no feasible way for him to carry them.

"I was actually counting the seconds it took you to realise that you can't carry two glasses, with one arm in a sling and the other using a cane to walk." Carrie says.

Quinn shakes his head slightly. "Yeah, yeah." he sighs, as he slowly slides down into the booth before her.

"Whiskey, neat." he orders.

She smiles smugly. "Okay."

Carrie returns minutes later, two glasses in her hands, and settles back down into her seat. She places a glass in front of Quinn, and the other she places down on a coaster.

She glances up at him, her eyes unintentionally lingering on his raw and red wounds, the wounds which are painfully obvious for all to see, these wounds which must cause him such pain.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" Quinn questions, pausing slightly as he swallows from the glass.

He sharply draws in a breath of air as he sets his eyes down on her.

She shifts somewhat uncomfortably under his steady gaze, as he is such a difficult man to decipher that she couldn't possibly begin to understand what his eyes were silently trying to tell her.

"I'm sorry?" she frowns.

"I said, do I make you uncomfortable, Carrie?" he replies.

She manages a small smile. "No."

"You're a shit liar." he sharply replies, despite the kind smile resting on his features. "Do I make you uncomfortable?" he repeats, like he's determined to receive an honest answer from this woman as his life prior to her has been filled with such dishonesty.

"No." she answers, more confidently. "I feel...Guilty."

Quinn laughs loudly. "Oh, Carrie. Don't feel guilty, okay?" he insists. "I don't feel anything."

"Really?" she sighs softly.

He nods once, his smile remaining.

"I don't." he lies. "It looks worse than it is."

"Good, 'cause it looks like shit." she grins.

"There she is." Quinn smiles. "Now, shall we have a toast?" he suggests, lifting his almost empty glass up in the air.

"You're almost empty." she says.

"All the more reason to get a refill." he smiles. "Now, where were we? The toast. Yes. The toast."

"To what?" she smiles, lifting her glass slowly to meet his.

"To being bearable, or in my case..Unbearable?"

She smirks. "To being bearable." she corrects him, because she considers him bearable.

"Is my hearing correct? Is Carrie Mathison paying me a compliment?" he mocks her.

She smiles. "And to being, in your case, unbearable."

Quinn's smile widens. "That's what I want to hear. The truth."

Quinn hesitates before they clink their glasses together.

"Cheers."

* * *

_A/N: Hi all. firstly, I don't think I can begin to apologise for the lateness of this update. I have been incredibly busy and stressed, and then I hit a wall of sorts with this story, but I do hope you enjoy it regardless of the lateness or of the quality. I'm not particularly happy with this chapter, as it is short, but I felt it was right to end it where I did and it is sort of setting the scene for what the next chapter will focus on._

_I hope you enjoy it regardless of my own thoughts._

_I just want to thank everyone who reads my story, it truly means so much to me and I just really can't explain how thankful I am._

Dear Guest reviewer; LondynNow:  
Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story. :) I'm so happy to read that you are enjoy it. And I'm also very happy and relieved you thought it was true to the characters. I do plan to continue it for a long time, and I hope you'll stick with me. Thank you. x

Dear Guest reviewer; Violet;  
Thank you for reading my story! I'm really so happy and relieved to read that you thought it was like you were reading the show, that truly means so much to me and is such a lovely compliment. I know exactly what you mean in regards to Indigo's work, and how it feels like watching the show, I feel this way in regards to all of the wonderful homeland stories that I read on here :) Haha. I apologise about the lateness of the update and will try my hardest to be quicker. Thank you so much. x

* * *

I'd like to specially thank indigovioletstargazer, Eyesdown104, LilMisfit5290 and CSI Encyclopedia reviews - I'm not simply thanking you for reading all of my Homeland stories & being so enthusiastic and kind about them but I'm thanking you more for writing your own stories. They are wonderful and I was reading them before I even considering writing Homeland, they are inspiring and I think you're all incredibly talented.


	4. Losing time

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

**A/N: I apologise for the note here but I want to inform the reader that this story will stick closely to the characters in the show and therefore it will contain swearing.**

* * *

Quinn's body felt surprisingly light, on top of Carrie's shoulder, as she dragged him slowly towards the car-park.

His right arm is thrown over hers, she grips onto his cane with her left hand and holds him around his waist with her right. He stands on unsteady, shaky feet but he stills stands.

He remains awake but he isn't with it, he isn't able to have a coherent conversation for very long. He goes in and out of being present and being somewhere far away, and it seems as though, at times, he often prefers being in this far away land than with his painful and dark reality.

He drank too much, too fast, and his current state was a result of that.

"Carrie.." he murmurs lowly, as he tries to pull away from her.

"Quinn. Quinn, don't." Carrie tries to stop him, her hand grasping his tightly. "Quinn, you can't stand on your own."

He frowns and quickly glances down to his legs. "I-I can't?" he slurs, a somewhat panicked expression threatening to form on his features.

"No, you can't. You hurt yourself, remember?" she asks, trying to tighten her grip around him so he will not fall, again.

"No." he says, almost with a childlike innocence to his voice.

"You fell, Quinn." she informs him.

He remains silent, lips parted, expression almost entirely empty.

"You missed the stairs, that's why we're leaving." Carrie informs him.

Quinn carefully considers her words.

"Did I hurt the stairs?" he asks.

She shakes her head, a smile tugs on her lips but doesn't form entirely.

"No, Quinn, but I think you fucked up your back," she answers honestly.

He hit the stairs very hard.

"You drank too much." she adds.

He nearly smiles.

"I can-I can..." he begins, lowly. "I can handle my..." he murmurs.

What he means to say, what she knows he is trying to say, is that he can handle his liquor.

"I know," she agrees. "You drank nearly two whole bottles, on your own." she says. "You drank too much."

And then it dawns upon Carrie, why the alcohol hit him so bad, and as it does she feels stupid for not realising it sooner.

Quinn is on medication.

Medication and alcohol should not be mixed, for it can have bad results.

"Quinn," Carrie halts suddenly.

He turns towards her, lips pressed together, skin pale, eyes narrowed and set on her.

"Yes, Carrie?" he murmurs.

"What are you on?" she asks.

He says nothing, the only indication that he understood what she said, what she asked, was the sudden clenching of his jaw, like he didn't want to speak about this with her.

"Quinn, what the fuck are you doing?" she sighs angrily. "You shouldn't be drinking on medication."

"What I do, when I do, is not your fucking business, Carrie." he answers quickly.

"Fine." Carrie snaps back. "Tell me where to drop you off and I will."

Quinn says nothing.

"Quinn," she repeats, more sternly. "Where do you want me to take you?"

Quinn releases a long, deep sigh as he leans against her, weighs his body down more on her shoulder, and attempts to rest his head against her shoulder. He slips, slightly, and she only just manages to catch him, to stop him from harshly hitting the ground.

"I'm tired, Carrie..." he whispers weakly, as she helps him to stand again.

She only just catches his words.

Carrie can think of only one solution.

"Come on." she says, not expecting a response.

And she doesn't receive one.

Peter Quinn is a man of few words, especially when those words are about himself, and even while he is drunk like this he somehow manages to carefully control what he does and does not speak of.

She directs him to her car, props his body against it, and momentarily leaves his side so that she may unlock and open the doors.

Once the door to the back seat is open, she returns to Quinn's side.

He says nothing, not a word passes his lips, and he doesn't glance at her as she assists him in getting into the back-seat of the car.

With her hand around his lower back, she gently leads him to the open door.

Then, Carrie guides him down to the seat.

He collapses down against it, a heap of bloodied and broken bones, and she doesn't try to move him, she doesn't try to position him upwards and place a seatbelt around him.

Carrie leaves him, where he lies, and shuts the door on him.

She then slides into the front seat, shuts the door and starts up the engine. She is more than able to drive for she only had the first glass, and a sip of the second.

Quinn drank more than enough for the two of them.

On the drive to her place, she often hears Quinn murmuring incoherent jumbles of words.

She doesn't ask him to repeat them, but he does anyway.

After nearly ten minutes of muttering words she doesn't catch, he falls silent.

When the car pulls up at the traffic lights, and as she waits for it to turn green, she briefly glances back at Quinn and finds that he rests, with his eyes open, on his back, staring out into nothingness.

He says nothing, his eyes do not even flicker to meet hers in the moment that hers settle on him.

She turns away and refocuses her complete attention on the road.

When she finally pulls her car up, outside of her place, she slips out of the driver's seat, returns to the back seat and assists Quinn in getting out.

She helps Quinn out of the car by sliding her hand behind his back, the other hand grips his, and she guides him out of the car and outside.

The air is cold and chilling, but is refreshing and almost seems to awaken Quinn out of the drunken haze he'd been resting in.

"Carrie..." he murmurs.

"Yes, Quinn?" she responds, without glancing towards him, as she closes the car up and locks it.

She hears the sound of vomiting, of retching, behind her and she turns quickly to find Quinn doubled over on the ground, his only able hand keeping his body upwards.

He vomits several times, as Carrie presses her hand to his back.

He doesn't shove her away, or curse at her that he's not an invalid, like she believed that he might.

Instead, he allows her to soothe his back, to rub it gently and kindly, and once the worst has passed, he lets her help him upwards.

She slides her arm underneath his with ease and leads him towards the front door of her house, his eyes stay mostly shut during this walk as the pain seems to be returning.

Once inside, Carrie briefly contemplates whether she should allow Quinn to shower first, to rid himself of the stench that follows him, but she decides against it and leads him to the couch.

He falls down against it heavily, but the soft cushions of the couch ease his sudden fall against it.

He rests on his back, his right knee hanging off of the side of the bed, his right hand pressed against his stomach.

She kneels by his side, lifts his knee up slowly and positions on the couch.

He groans slightly but the moan of pain never passes his lips, for he presses them tightly together so to prevent it.

Quinn says nothing, no word of thanks, his eyes stay closed too for he prefers it this way.

Carrie leaves him to his rest, after pulls the blanket up over his body.

She hesitates after taking several steps away and turns around to find him resting, he appears peaceful almost, and she believes this, she believes that because he appears peaceful than he must be.

But Quinn is not sleeping peacefully, it has been years since he can ever remember sleeping peacefully.

Peace is nothing something he will ever attain, it is not something he expects to ever feel again in his lifetime, yet this thought does not bother him, it does not trouble him, as he does not even believe that such a thing as peace truly exists.

* * *

Quinn leaves before the morning comes.

He wakes late in the night to find himself on an unfamiliar couch, in an unfamiliar setting which he soon believes is Carrie's place as she is the last person he remembers being with.

A deep, sharp groan passes his lips as he bends forward slightly.

His back aches badly, his wounds are still raw and fresh and cause him just as much, if not more, pain. He sits with his head in his hands for a moment before he musters the strength to stand.

He stands slowly from the couch, finding that he has no cane with him.

He folds the blanket up, place sit at the end of the couch, and turns towards the room. His eyes search for his cane and he finds none.

The last thing he clearly remembers is Carrie helping him out of her car, and so he assumes that his cane is in there.

He picks up her keys off of the hook and hobbles outside on unsteady, almost shaky, legs.

He glances through the window her car and spots his cane in the back seat of the car. After unlocking the door and pulling the cane out, he replaces the keys back on the hook, casts one look over the room before he leaves.

Quinn leaves because he has to, because he wants to, because he doesn't want to be here because it's easier on his own, it always has and always will be.

When he finally returns to his apartment, the pain has reached a high.

He's almost finished both bottles of pills in his pockets, he desperately searches through his bags but he knows that he doesn't have any other bottles for the pain.

He moves towards the mirror, hanging on a wall, resting above the small porcelain sink, directly opposite the shower. He unbuttons his shirt slowly, one button at a time, and then rests his cane against the wall as he slowly slides the shirt from his body.

He tears the bandages away from his wrists, tossing them to the side.

Quinn breathes in sharp, indrawn breaths of air as he reaches for the bandage on his stomach. He tears it away quickly, biting down on his bottom lip seconds later as the searing pain returns. He removes the other, smaller bandages from his body before he washes his face under the cold water, scrubbing at it until it feels clean.

He faces his back to the mirror and cranes his neck slightly to the side, so that he may view his back.

He breathes out heavily as his eyes flicker over the dark bruises, which travel down his back. He vaguely remembers falling down the stairs but he sure doesn't remember it hurting this much.

He strips of his remaining garments, steps inside the small shower and washes slowly, mostly with cold water, until he feels clean.

Once washed, he ignores the minor wounds, placing bandages only on his worse wounds, and then dresses into in a clean black button shirt and pants. He packs up his belongings, rolls up his rucksack, reaches for the wooden cane and leaves.

* * *

Carrie wakes to a soft, bright sunlight which seeps through the cracks in the curtains which hang before her windows. She pulls herself slowly from bed, runs her hands through her hair, and releases a small sigh before she suddenly stops.

She remembers leaving a drunk Quinn on her couch last night.

She reaches for her dressing gown, pulls it over her clothes and heads downstairs.

She finds the couch empty, the blanket neatly folded up – but she finds no trace of Quinn.

"Quinn?" she calls out.

She receives no response.

"Quinn?" she repeats.

He is gone, yet again, and he has let her again without a word.

After briefly checking the bathroom and the kitchen, Carrie washes in the shower, dresses into clean clothes and leaves for work.

She doubts that he will come in today, as he not only will likely have a pounding hangover but his fall down the stairs would've only worsened his current state.

But she finds him at work, when she arrives early and ready to continue with the interrogations.

Peter Quinn stands before a board of photographs and pictures, dressed in a long sleeve black, button-up shirt and tight black pants. He has his back to her, his hands rest in his pockets, and his eyes rest firmly on the photographs like he is looking for someone, for somebody.

He turns away from the board, towards the desk beside him, and as he moves he catches sight of Carrie and halts.

He turns back towards her slowly, a small, smug smirk resting on his face.

"What are you doing here?" she frowns.

Quinn's smile remains.

"Fuck, Carrie, if it's taken you _that_ long to realise I work here-" he starts.

"I mean, after last night." Carrie states, crossing her arms.

"What about last night?" Saul, suddenly appearing behind Carrie, questions.

Carrie turns quickly towards him.

"Carrie took me home." Quinn smirks devilishly.

Carrie scoffs loudly, rolls her eyes, and shoots Quinn a glare,like if he continues, if he says another word, she's going to hit him.

Saul turns to Carrie. "Carrie?" he frowns slightly.

"Took me back to her place, I mean, after some drinks-" Quinn begins.

"I did not. I didn't." Carrie reaches out and hits Quinn on the shoulder, on his sore shoulder.

"Fuck, Carrie." Quinn curses, pretending as though she has hurt him.

"You deserve it for lying." she replies quickly.

"Well," a smile tugs on his lips. "It wasn't all a lie, was it?" Quinn lifts an eyebrow.

She shoots him another glare. "I didn't take him home. He was so drunk, he couldn't drive. I wouldn't do that." Quinn's smile disappears in seconds.

"Oh, yeah. That's right," Quinn nods once. "But you'd take Brody to that cabin and fuck him without thinking?"

Quinn regrets the words immediately.

He regrets them as an unreadable expression spreads across her soft features.

He sighs and briefly closes his eyes.

"Look, Carrie...I didn't mean that, okay?" Quinn says, finally.

Saul speaks before Carrie can, he speaks before Quinn can continue.

"We've got Brody in," Saul announces. "And I think it'd be best if you went in with him first, Quinn."

"Whoa, wait – what? Why is Brody here? And secondly, Quinn? Really? He stabbed him in the fucking hand last time!" Carrie quickly and loudly replies.

"Brody is here because we didn't catch all of those fuckers at the warehouse, Carrie." Quinn answers impassively.

Her frown deeps. "What do you mean?"

"It's pretty self fucking explanatory," Quinn counters. "We missed one."

Carrie shakes her head quickly, takes a step away from the two men, and runs her hands through her hair before lowering them down to her side.

"Who? Wait – What the fuck? Why didn't anyone tell me?" she nearly shouts.

"You were.." Quinn begins.

"What? I was what? What? Un..unstable? Not ready? Not able to deal with this? This is bullshit. I should have been kept in the loop. This is bullshit." she states.

Quinn sighs. "You're being pulled in now."

"How do we know we missed one?" she asks, her frown deepening as she speaks.

"The fucker that shot me, that took you out of the room, he didn't return." Quinn states, a hidden anger boiling beneath as he thinks of that day.

"What?" she asks.

Quinn releases a loud, low sigh. His body tenses up, his eyes turn colder, and his expression remains impassive as he continues to speak.

"I don't know what the fuck you want me to say other than the man I put the bullet in, after Nazir, was not the one who shot me." he answers.

Carrie turns quickly to Saul, confusion still lingering in her eyes.

"Why is Quinn going in?" she asks. "He stabbed him in the fucking hand, or is that something that we're all conveniently forgetting?"

"I do have the experience, Carrie." Quinn answers smugly.

And when she glances to him, she finds an antagonising smile tugging on his features.

"What, and I have no fucking experience?" she snaps.

"You both have experience. I picked Quinn for this one, Carrie. He's good, you said it yourself." Saul answers.

"You're attached, you're biased." Quinn says, holding Carrie's firm gaze as she speaks.

She looks nearly outraged, nearly shocked, that he would say such a thing.

Carrie scoffs. "And what, you're not? You stabbed him, Quinn. To me, that indicates some sort of bias or emotion. And, you're hung-over!" she exclaims.

Quinn answers speedily. "There's no emotion behind it, Carrie."

"You're hung-over." she repeats.

He sighs. "Only a little."

"It could affect your judgement." she counters.

Quinn nearly laughs. "Bullshit, Carrie. You know it won't." he states, angrily. "I'm going in.""

She begins. "Fine. But you-"

Quinn cuts over her.

"Don't worry, Carrie. I won't put a knife in his hand again."

* * *

Quinn enters the dimly lit interrogation room to find Brody, resting on the same chair he was once seated on, behind the same desk Quinn had once set up the computer on and forced Brody to watch his own confession tape.

He finds that, this time, no chains or binds keep Brody down.

Brody stiffens up slightly, his eyes harden, and he watches Quinn with a clear caution.

"Why don't you start my telling me what happens next?" Quinn says, releasing a low sigh, as he takes a seat down across from Brody.

Brody's eyes intentionally and obviously flicker and linger on the markings and bruises on Quinn's face. Then, he glances towards the cane which Quinn entered with, the cane resting at the edge of the table.

"I have all day." Quinn adds.

Brody frowns. "I don't understand your question."

"Sure you do, Brody," Quinn holds his gaze. "Now that Nazir is dead, I want to know what's next because I'm pretty fucking certain that this isn't where things end, that it won't end with his death."

"I don't know anything." Brody states.

Quinn answers sharply, "I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you believe." Brody announces, loudly. "I don't know what you want from me, I don't know what you want me to say."

Quinn swallows tightly.

"Did they tell you how it happened?" Quinn queries.

Brody's frown remains, he stays still and silent, his eyes never wavering away from Quinn's.

"Did they?" Quinn lifts a curious eyebrow.

"What the fuck is he doing?" Carrie asks, turning quickly to Saul.

"He knows what he's doing, Carrie." Saul assures her.

Carrie swallows tightly and returns her attention to the screens before her.

"Hm?" Quinn pushes.

"Tell me, first, Brody – " Quinn starts. "Have you seen Carrie since it went down?"

"No" Quinn assumes as much by the empty expression resting on Brody's features.

"So, you wouldn't have seen what they did to her?" he questions.

More silence follows these words.

"You know,..." Quinn begins.

A dry, raspy laugh escapes his lips.

"Your silence sickens me." he states.

"I don't know what the fuck you expect me to say. I don't know about any plan. I don't know if there will be one." Brody sharply answers.

"You do know, Brody." Quinn firmly holds his gaze. "Of course you fucking do, Brody. You knew the man, well, loved him, saw him as a saviour? This man who tied Carrie to a fucking pole and had her beaten, caused her wrists to bleed, left her frightened and scared, believing she was going to die. Tell me, you don't think that's fucked up? Tell me, you don't think it's fucked up that she would have died protecting you and yet, you're sitting here protecting Nazir still?!"

"I don't know about any plan, okay!" Brody angrily exclaims. "I don't know, okay? And I wouldn't have let any harm fall upon her. I wouldn't."

"Why, Brody? Do you care about her?" Quinn questions.

Brody falters.

"Do you?" he asks.

"Hm. So we're back to the silence?" Quinn tilts his head slightly sideways before he releases a long sigh.

Brody says nothing.

This only angers Quinn more, it causes him to snap a little, to resort to the only thing he can think to use against Nicholas Brody so to make him speak.

"How about..." Quinn begins. "You start talking, and I won't tell you how it happened, I won't make you endure hearing the details of his death." he suggests.

Carrie turns quickly to Saul, a worried expression set on her features.

"Saul. You have to stop it." Carrie insists.

Saul doesn't move.

"Saul." Carrie repeats, more firmly, more sternly now.

"We need to know, Carrie, if there are any plans. And..." Saul begins but halts.

Carrie's frown deepens. "And, what?"

Saul gives her silence.

"Saul." she snaps.

Saul turns to her. "Quinn hasn't spoke about it."

"What?" her frown remains.

Saul leans in closer to Carrie, so only she will hear his words. "Quinn hasn't explained to anyone how, after being shot three times, he was able to overpower Nazir and his more than capable comrade. Quinn hasn't said a word. He won't. And you know Nazir, it isn't like him to show mercy, to remove the handcuffs off of a man before his death. He would have had his man shoot him, and end it."

Carrie swallows tightly.

She exhales loudly, her breathing deepens and becomes louder and deeper, her chest heaves a little in and out.

"Wait- What the fuck, Saul?!" she snaps back. "You're telling me you think Nazir and Quinn are-"

"I'm not saying that, Carrie." Saul quickly speaks over her. "I'm not jumping to any conclusions. All I'm saying is that we don't know what the fuck happened in that room after you left. All we know is what you've told us, what you told me, about Quinn offering his services."

A look of bewilderment flashes upon her face.

"You're not seriously believing that Quinn would work for Nazir? Fuck, Saul." she says.

"I'm not saying that at all, Carrie. But we need to know what happened, we need to learn what happened in that room with Quinn and Nazir. And if he's not talking to us, or to you, then we'll see if he talks to Brody." Saul answers calmly.

"Make him do it professionally, the way it's supposed to be done, not through an interrogation-" Carrie suggests.

"Carrie, do you trust me?" Saul cuts over her. "Carrie." he says, more sternly.

"Yes." she answers. "Unquestionably."

"Then, trust me on this. If we did this the professional way, as you said, Quinn could be implicated. For a man like Peter Quinn, being implicated in a situation like this, being deemed as a threat needed to be cleaned up or removed, it won't be good for him, Carrie. It won't be good. For now, this is between you and me. Trust me."

A small, unenthusiastic but real smile flickers on her features. "Always."

* * *

A/N:

_Hi all! I just wanted to thank everyone who reads this story, reviews and/or favourites/follows. It means a lot to me, so thank you. I apologise for any spelling errors, if you do find any please let me know._

_I wasn't particularly happy with the last chapter, so I wanted to update sooner and I'm happier with this one. I hope you enjoy it._

_& A special thanks to __**CSI Encyclopedia **__and __**indigovioletstargazer**__for their kind words and support._

_Thanks for reading. x_


	5. Reminders of home

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

**A/N: I apologise for the note here but I want to inform the reader that this story will stick closely to the characters in the show and therefore it will contain swearing.**

* * *

"So, they didn't tell you anything?" Quinn asks, tilting his head back slightly. "Well, Brody, I'll tell you. I'll tell you all of it, since your opting to keep your mouth shut."

"I don't know about any plan." Brody repeats.

Quinn tires of this.

"I'm tired, Brody. I'm fucking tired of your lies." Quinn states.

Carrie side glances at Saul before she turns her complete attention back towards the camera. She feels now that they are as much watching Quinn for an answer as they are Brody.

"I don't know any fucking plan. I don't know how many times I have to say that." Brody counters.

"Fine." Quinn sighs.

"You don't have a specific plan but there will be something, won't there? A movement? Something else?" Quinn angrily asks.

Brody stays silent.

"It felt good," Quinn announces. "Putting the bullet between his fucking eyes. It felt really good watching him die. I drew it out, it was painful, and it felt fucking great. I revelled in it."

Brody snaps.

He reaches for Quinn's cane and before Quinn can respond, before he can move, before Carrie or Saul even realise what Brody is about to do, Brody moves; he pulls the cane back and swings it forward, striking Peter Quinn so harshly, so violently, in the face that he is thrown to the ground, falls off his chair, hits it harshly.

Quinn's nose begins to bleed, his cheek which caught the brunt of the blow is red in seconds, his mouth tastes of copper and dirt, and he is unaware of the blood which trickles down his now split lip.

Men rush into the room in seconds, trying to drag Quinn upwards – but he fights them.

Carrie runs towards the room.

Quinn fights to break free, he shouts, curses at Brody, swears at him and tries to lunge forward at him.

"You fucking DOG!" Quinn shouts angrily, the veins on his neck pulsating so madly, the words coming out so ferociously, Carrie knows if unleashed Quinn will beat Brody senseless.

"Quinn, Quinn." Carrie says, soothingly, as she appears before Quinn.

He doesn't even appear to notice her.

She tries to calm him but he cannot be calmed.

He appears rabid almost, like if given the chance he would beat Brody.

"Get him out of here!" Carrie instructs.

Once dragged out of the room, and upstairs, Quinn manages to break free of the arms which held him back.

His face is bruising already, it is stained with a splattering of his own blood, his eye is swelling slightly and the white of his eye is already red.

Peter Quinn is more than furious, he is raging, and he is silently attempting to determine the easiest way to enter Brody's room and stab the fucker in both hands this time.

"I'm going to fucking kill him!" Quinn curses, as he tries to take the stairs again.

Carrie appears before him, rests her arms on his shoulders as she tries to stop him.

"Carrie, move." he tries to get past her.

"Quinn, no. You don't want to do this." Carrie says.

"Get the fuck out of my way, Carrie!" Quinn sharply snaps.

"Let's just take a fucking break, here." Saul says, quickly.

Quinn halts, he looks slowly towards Saul.

"Take a fucking break?" Quinn repeats loudly.

"Take a break. Just go outside, cool the fuck off, okay?" Saul instructs.

Quinn sighs with aggravation.

Carrie holds out his cane to him, so he may walk.

He takes it angrily, his knuckles turning white seconds after grasping it due to how hardly he was already holding it.

"What the fuck are you doing here still, Carrie?" Saul turns to her.

Her frown remains.

"Go after him, make sure he doesn't find some other way to enter the fucking building and beat the shit out of Brody. Or put another knife in his hand." Saul says.

She nods quickly and follows after Quinn.

She finds Quinn outside, pacing, unable to stand still, an angered expression still resting on his bruised features.

"Quinn-" Carrie begins.

"Don't waste your fucking breath, Carrie, if you're just going to justify what he did because he was good in the fucking sack." Quinn growls.

She shakes her head. "I'm not. Hey, you need to calm down, okay?"

"I need to calm down?" Quinn yells. "I don't need to fucking calm down, Carrie. Don't tell me that after what that motherfucker just did."

"Quinn." Carrie says.

He turns to her.

"What?" he angrily replies. "If you tell me to fucking calm down-" he starts.

"No, no. It's not that. I need to ask you something." she says.

He waits in silence for her to respond, to ask her question.

"It's about Nazir, and the warehouse. What happened after I left?" she asks.

His frown deepens. "What?"

"I mean, how did you kill him? How did you overpower him, and kill Nazir and-" she begins.

"Carrie," he says, with a frighteningly calm tone.

She swallows nervously.

"What are you asking me?" he asks softly.

"Quinn, I'm not asking anything. I'm not. I just... You never told me what happened. So, I thought know..." she begins but stops.

The expression on his face shifts slightly.

His frown deepens and for a moment he simply watches her.

"After everything that we have been through," he starts, his voice surprisingly low and vulnerable. "You have the fucking nerve to ask me if I'm working for Abu fucking Nazir!"

"I'm not- I'm not asking that." Carrie says quickly. "I just-"

"It all makes so much fucking sense now! Saul. Oh, fuck. Saul is a fucking genius. He picked me to go in with Brody because he knew I couldn't resist talking about it, talking about putting the bullet in the fuckers head, and it's all fucking crystal clear now." Quinn snaps.

"Quinn, we just-" she begins.

"I have been on your side from the start, for everything – and-and after everything that we have been through together," he shouts, the veins on his forehead throbbing madly. "You have the audacity to ask me if I'm working for the enemy!"

"Quinn, I'm sorry." Carrie softly says.

And Carrie doesn't believe, even after what she had just witnessed with Quinn shouting furiously at Brody, that she has ever seen Quinn as mad as he is now.

"Yeah, well, you know what? Fuck YOU Carrie." he shouts. "Fuck you, fuck Saul, and fuck this."

Quinn leaves because he has to, because he can't be around Carrie or Saul right now, because if he stays here he's going to break into Brody's room and will probably kill him.

Quinn leaves because it's better if he leaves now before he does something he regrets, or says something he regrets. He leaves because it's easier right now, to be alone.

When Carrie eventually joins Saul inside, she releases a long and low sigh.

"He's gone." Carrie says, lowly, as she joins Saul's side.

"What?" Saul frowns. "What do you mean he's gone? Where?"

"He figured out...Quinn put the pieces together, that you purposely put him in there to find out what he knew, if he accepted Nazir's offer. Quinn is a good man, Saul. He wouldn't do that. He just freaked the fuck out, Saul. He is pissed. And he has every right to be. He's a good man." Carrie says.

"I knew that, Carrie, but I needed confirmation." Saul responds.

"Well, I hope you got it because I don't think Quinn's coming back. He lost it Saul. He fucking lost it." Carrie replies.

"He'll come back," Saul says, sounding so sure, so confident, of this. "This is his job. He can't leave it just as much as you can't quit yours. He'll be back, just like I knew you'd come back to me."

* * *

Quinn drinks when he returns to his apartment; this new apartment is smaller but is cleaner and it is all he needs, because he's never been one to care about material things.

He rests against the wall, drinking slowly, attempting to keep out unwanted thoughts, trying to control his emotions and his anger.

He cannot stop replaying his and Carrie's conversation.

She didn't accuse him of working with Nazir right out but he knew that was Saul's intention of placing him with Brody, he knew that Quinn wouldn't be able to resist talking of Nazir's death to Brody.

Quinn leaves his apartment, still able to walk easily, still with it completely.

He picks up a bottle of pills on his way to the bar down town.

He plans to purchase a bottle of whiskey and leave with it.

He enters the bar to find it smoky and surprisingly busy for a weekday.

He walks in slowly, still using the cane to support himself, but his arm is out of the sling, he tore it off in frustration when he couldn't get the blood out of it. His injured arm hangs weakly by his side, he only uses it when he has to, when needs to. It will heal in time, and he will regain the full use of it, but for now he doesn't want to overuse it and causes himself more pain.

Quinn leans against the bar, propping himself against it so that he is supported.

He sighs, runs his hands through his hair, as he waits for the bartender to walk down towards his end of the bar.

His eyes flicker briefly over those in the bar, returning towards the bartender who has just greeted him.

"Rough day?" he asks.

Quinn's eyes flicker over the man's name tag: Jack.

"I'll take the whole bottle of whiskey, thanks, Jack." Quinn states coldly.

Jack hesitates. "Ah, sir-" he starts.

"I'll take the whole bottle." Quinn repeats.

Jack nods. "Yes, sir."

He searches until he finds a full bottle of whiskey. He leans over the counter and hands it to Quinn, taking the money from it and returning seconds later with his change.

"Have a good one." Jack nods, with a brief smile.

Quinn nods abruptly.

He places the bottle into his left hand, holding it tightly, and then wraps his fingers around the handle of his cane.

After taking a few steps out of the bar and onto the street, Quinn turns left and begins retracing the path back towards his apartment.

It is only when a voice behind him calls out to him that he halts.

"John?" the man asks.

Quinn freezes almost entirely.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says, without even turning back. "You've got the wrong man."

"John Jensen?" the man asks.

Quinn recognises the voice but he pretends as though he doesn't.

"You've got the wrong man." Quinn calls back.

And without another word, without a second glance back, Quinn begins to walk away.

He stops once more, as the man behind him speaks again.

"I'm sorry – I meant, John Hunter." he says.

Quinn closes his eyes tightly.

John Hunter was the man that Peter Quinn used to be, the boy that he once was, but the formerly happy child who was once known as John Hunter died many years ago.

He once had a brother by the name of Thomas, but John doesn't acknowledge Thomas because they aren't brothers, because brothers don't do what Thomas did to him.

John Hunter died many years ago.

That boy no longer lives.

He is a shadow in the soul of Peter Quinn, who will not acknowledge him, will not remember him, and will not be known as him.

"I don't know if you need to clean your fucking ears out, but I said you've got the wrong man." Quinn angrily replies.

"Did you really think I wouldn't recognise my own brother, when I saw him?" Thomas asks.

Quinn turns towards him, a dark expression resting on his features.

Today is not his fucking day, he thinks.

"You need to back the fuck up, okay? Because you have the wrong guy." Quinn answers.

"I can see..." Thomas starts, taking a step closer towards Quinn.

Quinn looks more than cautious at the sight of this almost unrecognisable man before him, this man who claims to be the brother that was never there, the brother that he never had, the brother that he considers to be dead to him.

"You still have that scar, on the side of your neck..." Thomas halts.

His eyes flicker obviously over the scars and wounds that cover his brother's battered body. And he knows that this is his brother, for he could never miss those eyes.

"You look different." Thomas adds.

Quinn's eyes stare lifelessly back at this stranger, his expression is so hardened and cold that it almost sends a chill through Thomas' spine.

There is such hatred in Quinn's eyes, and despite that this hatred is not directed towards his brother is still hurts Thomas to see it in his brother's eyes.

Quinn's face is battered, bloodied, and bruised and if it weren't for his eyes, or for the familiar scar, he wouldn't have recognised his brother.

"What, have you got nothing to say to me, John?" Thomas asks.

"Yeah, I do." Quinn manages a small, insincere smile.

Quinn unscrews the lid with his teeth, spits the cap to the ground and swallows a large mouthful before he speaks again.

"Go fuck yourself." Quinn says.

"Really? After all this time, John-" Thomas starts.

"I told you, you have the wrong man. That's not my name. And if you had come sooner than now, I guarantee that I would have said the same fucking thing." Quinn snaps.

"Look, John-" Thomas steps forward.

"Don't call me that and don't step any closer to me or I'll put my fucking knife in your windpipe and you won't say another word." Quinn threatens.

"Can't we talk about this like the adults that we are?" Thomas asks. "I mean, assuming that you are an adult and that you did grow up."

Quinn's cold and bitter eyes lock for Thomas' for a moment and for a second Quinn is silent.

He is impassive and silent.

And then Quinn turns cold.

The insincere and bitter smile returns to his face.

"Okay. So, I'm telling you, like the adult I am, to go fuck yourself." Quinn hisses.

And with that Quinn leaves.

He leaves because he wants to, because he needs to, but above all he leaves because he has something better to do.

He returns to his apartment and he drinks, glass after glass, until he feels himself become unsteady and even then he still continues to drink.

He drinks until he feels nothing, because feeling nothing is always better than feeling anything.

* * *

A pounding sensation in his head causes Quinn's eyes to flutter open.

He wakes slowly, on a comfortable surface he is not familiar with – a bed.

He frowns and opens his eyes further, so that he may view his surroundings properly.

He doesn't recognise this room, he doesn't know where he is or how he came to be here.

He tries to remember something, anything, but all that he can think about is the stinging pain he feels in his right hand.

He glances down and finds a tight bandage wrapped around his hand, on which the blood has begun to soak through.

Quinn frowns.

He shuts his eyes and tries to remember something, anything, and he does.

He sees a picture in his mind, a familiar face – of Thomas.

Quinn doesn't remember much after that.

He remembers returning to the apartment and drinking, but that's all.

He coughs loudly to clear his throat as he rolls slowly onto his back.

Quinn shuts his eyes.

A loud groan escapes his lips as he moves, finding that his body disagrees with such a small movement.

"Morning." Carrie loudly calls out.

His eyes snap out.

"Carrie?" he frowns.

His eyes settle down upon her.

She stands before him, dressed in a light blue dressing grown, her curls hanging by her side, her arms crossed over her stomach.

"How are you feeling, dumb-ass?" she asks.

He smirks as he looks down at his legs and finds that he is only dressed in his shirt and boxer briefs.

"Well..." he sighs, suddenly looking overly pleased with himself. "Seems like you decided you wanted that sleep-under after all. Guess I'm not that dumb." he smirks.

She scowls at him. "You're dumb if you think _that_ happened." she snaps.

Silence follows.

"You seriously don't remember?" she asks.

And then it returns to him.

Fragments.

Brody smashing his face with the cane.

Carrie and Saul accusing him of working with Nazir.

Quinn's face turns sour.

His smile disappears and he sits upwards, exhaling heavily.

"Where are my pants?" he asks, not even looking at her, not gloating, the smile completely gone.

"So, what, you're back to sulking?" she sighs softly.

Quinn says nothing.

"Fine. Your pants are downstairs where you took them off." Carrie announces, before exiting the room.

He turns towards the door as she leaves it, sighing heavily and dropping his head to his hands.

He stands slowly, feeling an aching pain surge through his back as he does.

"_Fuck." _Quinn curses, a little loudly.

He feels horrible, the worst he has felt in days.

His body aches, his head throbs, and the fresh cut to his hand stings.

His eyes search the room for his cane but he doesn't find it.

"Carrie..." he tries to shout out, but her name gets caught in his dry throat and the words barely escape his lips.

"Carrie?" he tries again.

He hears her footsteps coming up the stairs.

She returns to him, carrying his pants in her left hand and his cane in her right.

He all but snatches the pants from her hands.

"Look, Quinn-" she starts.

She understands that he's pissed off, that he's angry about Brody and about Saul, and he's angry with her, but she needs him to understand that they didn't mean it.

Saul had to be safe.

They all had to be safe.

"We had to be safe. That was all." she nearly pleads.

He scoffs as he pulls his pants on roughly.

"Yeah. Right. Safe would mean what, exactly, Carrie? Fucking Brody in an isolated cabin, where he could easily kill you?" Quinn angrily asks. "Real fucking safe." he murmurs.

She shoots him a glare.

"Why do you keep bringing that up?" she angrily asks.

He meets her gaze slowly, with no answer.

"Yes, I fucked Brody in the cabin. I was naive, okay?" she replies.

He believes Carrie Mathison to be many things - strong, brave, smart, independent, and more often than not she is right, but naïve? He doesn't know if he can see her as being naïve.

"Naive?" Quinn nearly laughs. "

He's in a bad mood, a terrible one which started when he got smashed in the face by a cane the previous day and only worsened as he was accused of working with Nazir and ran into a reminder from a life better forgotten.

The pain that he feels only adds onto this mood.

Quinn snaps because it's all he can think to do, it's his defence mechanism.

"Grow up, Carrie. We all know why you fucked him and it's not because you were naïve." he counters.

Carrie harshly thrusts his cane into his right hand, purposely placing it where she knows the cut on his hand is.

Quinn winces and curses.

"Grow up?" she nearly shouts. "Says the fucking thirty-something year old man getting wasted on alcohol and prescription pills, who comes to my house at one in the morning bleeding and muddy, taking his pants off in my god-damn living room because he fucked up his knee again. This same man who can't even commit to living in one apartment for more than a couple of weeks. I think you need to grow up, Quinn, and while you're at it learn how to mind your own business."

* * *

**A/N: Hi, all!  
I'm not too sure about this chapter. I liked the start but I don't know about the ending. I hope you enjoyed reading it and I'm sorry for the really late update. I apologise for any accidental spelling errors. I wrote the second half of this chapter late at night.**

**Oh and anything in this story, or chapters to come, about Peter Quinn aka. 'John Hunter' is totally made up. I know nothing of Quinn's real past (I hope we learn more this season) and so whatever happens and what his past involves was just created by me..**

**I'd like to say thanks to indigovioletstargazer, Guest, CSI Encyclopedia and LondynNow for their reviews of chapter 4. It means a lot.**

**I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading.**

**X**


	6. Our human hearts

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

**A/N: I apologise for the note here but I want to inform the reader that this story will stick closely to the characters in the show and therefore it will contain swearing.**

* * *

Carrie moves quickly down the stairs, with a less able and slower Peter Quinn behind her.

"You need to leave." she says, without turning back towards him.

Quinn scoffs. "Yeah, because I was planning on staying over."

Carrie stops and turns towards him.

"Why did you come here?" she asks. "In the first place. Why did you come to my house?"

Quinn sighs. "I don't know, Carrie."

"Why didn't you answer any of my calls?" she asks, crossing her arms.

He turns slowly to face her. "What's with the interrogation? I thought I needed to leave."

"You do." she nods. "But just because you're an ass doesn't mean I'm not worried about you."

Quinn lifts an eyebrow. "Thought we were minding our own business?"

"Fine." she shrugs. "Go for a walk, get over your hangover and I'll see you in a couple days."

Quinn could nearly laugh.

A smile, which is far from a real or happy smile, spreads on Quinn's face. The smile is a cold one, a smile of complete and utter disbelief.

"A couple days? What, so I'm cleared to come back to work? You and Saul deliberated and deemed me as a friend and not a foe?" he asks, slowly speaking.

Carrie steps closer to him.

"We never thought otherwise, Quinn. We just had to be sure. We had to be safe. You know what it's like. Look, I just think that you need to take care of yourself and look at this all with a new perspective?" she says, softly.

"Really?" he asks, the smile gone.

"Yes, Quinn." she nearly whispers. "I think you need a new perspective on all of this."

Quinn rolls his eyes and reaches for the door handle.

"Wait!" Carrie says loudly. "Please, just wait."

Quinn sighs and turns back to her.

He has no idea what Carrie Mathison wants from him, she doesn't want him around but then she pleads for him to stay, she's not interested in him but she wants to spend so much time with him.

"I don't know what the fuck you want from me, Carrie." Quinn honestly says. "One minute, you're shouting at me to get out. And the next, you're pleading with me to stay? What do you want?"

And there is so much more to that question than she knows.

What do you want really means who do you want. Do you want me? Do you want Brody? What do you want from me? Friendship? More? Am I capable of giving you more?

Quinn sighs loudly. "I'm tired, Carrie."

He doesn't want to be here, and she doesn't want him here, so he doesn't know why she's pleading with him to stay behind.

Carrie moves closer, worry spread on her features. "I want to make sure you're okay, and from the looks of things.. I don't think that you are."

Quinn lifts a curious eyebrow. "What would give you that impression?"

Carrie sighs. "You were shot, Quinn. You're struggling, you're bound to be feeling...Plenty of emotions. Anger, fear, pain. You look like shit. You reek of alcohol. You just..You don't look good and I'm worried that it's effecting you and you don't know how to deal with it."

"What are exactly are you saying, Carrie?" he asks.

"I'm saying..I think you need to talk to someone about it."

"What?" he laughs. "Like a fucking shrink?"

"Yes. Someone certified to talk about this type of trauma." she replies, seriously.

Quinn holds her steady gaze.

"It's like..." Quinn pauses.

Flashes return to him.

Bright flashes, the stench of alcohol, the sound of pill bottles emptying, glass breaking – and then he feels like he's being hit again, in the face, by the cane and he gets angry.

Quinn gets angry when he thinks of Brody overpowering him.

He gets angrier when he thinks of how Brody hurt Carrie, how he had her committed and she is still loyal to him. He thinks that Brody could probably do any fucking thing he wanted and Carrie would probably still try to convince Quinn that he was a good guy.

Quinn doesn't understand this, her devotion to Brody, and then her worry about him because he got drunk. Her emotions, her words, and her actions confuse Quinn and he doesn't need this confusion.

It was simpler before, when he felt nothing for her, when he felt nothing at all, and he'd rather go back to that time and place because it was easier.

"You're looking for some deeper explanation for my drinking, right? For the way I treated Brody in the interview, gloating about killing Nazir?" Quinn asks.

He pauses, watching as Carrie swallows tightly.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, Carrie, but there is none. No reason. Nothing deeper. I like to drink, not that it's any of your fucking business. And in regards to that fucker Brody, I just wanted to see the look in his eyes when I told him. And just so you know, it felt great. I happen to think that my reaction to your accusations of me working with Abu Nazir was pretty fucking reasonable. And this 'trauma' which you speak of – You might feel it, the pain and the fear, but I don't. I told you, I don't feel any of it. I look back on the warehouse with a feeling of fondness about how I was able to put a bullet in his head. There is nothing deeper going on, so stop looking for it." Quinn snarls angrily.

"God!" Carrie exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. "You are such an ass, you know?!"

Quinn smirks. "Well, sometimes, and I don't know if this is the case for everyone, but when a person is hit in the face with their own cane and then sixty fucking seconds later they are accused of working with Abu Nazir they might tend to me a little pissed off."

"It's not just that." she shakes her head. "It's just – I tell you I was concerned for you, I try to offer you some form of human comfort and you throw it back in my face. You really don't feel anything, do you, Quinn?"

"Atta girl, Carrie!" Quinn winks. "You finally uncovered my secret. I'm a fucking cyborg. Gold star for you."

"See! There you go again." she loudly sighs. "Your response to the possibility of human emotion or comfort is to throw it back in my face with some sarcastic or rude response."

"Hey, you said it yourself. I'm an ass. So I must be an ass, right? And Brody, he's a good guy because you said so." he angrily replies.

Carrie shakes her head. "Brody has made mistakes. Okay? We all have. I'm sure you have too. Cut him some slack."

Quinn rolls his eyes again. "When will you stop defending him?"

"When will you stop hating him?" she retorts.

"He hit me in the face with my own cane!" Quinn replies.

He bites his bottom lip before he continues.

He hurt you too, Carrie, he thinks. He nearly destroyed you. I don't understand how you could forgive him for that, I never could.

Quinn sighs as her voice rises, becomes louder and angrier.

He doesn't need this and neither does she.

Quinn sees it now, that he only brings chaos to her life, that he's making it harder for her when he should be making it easier.

"You stabbed him in the hand! Call it even, Quinn. Please, and get over this bad move and talk to someone." Carrie says.

Quinn meets her gaze slowly, eyes duller. "Goodbye, Carrie."

* * *

Quinn returns quickly to his place, stripping his clothes off the minute he is inside. He moves towards his shower and scrubs angrily at his raw and sore skin, not caring much about the repercussions of his actions and how such hard scrubbing will inflame his wounds and cause them to bleed.

Once dried, Quinn dresses into a long sleeve black shirt, a trench coat, and tight black pants. He picks up his cane and leaves, as quickly as he is physically able to.

Quinn knows exactly where he's going, he drives there without directions because he knows this place, knows it like the back of his hand, knows it because he's memorised it on a map many times, and he knows it so well because he visits occasionally, never entering because that isn't allowed.

He watches as the front door of the small, white house opens. Julia steps outside, her dark hair pulled back off of her face, dressed in a grey sweater and black pants. Quinn watches her from afar, from across the road. His eyes narrow, and an odd feeling swells inside of his chest, as he watches her carry out a large black bag.

The feeling in his chest grows, becomes more like a sucking feeling, like his heart is slowly being pulled out of his chest.

He nears the house, takes several steps closer, as he catches a flash of blue in the bag.

He lowers his head and turns away as Julia glances in his direction. Thankfully, for Quinn, it's a busy day and the streets are filled.

He goes unnoticed.

When Quinn glances back, he finds Julia re-entering her house, closing and locking the door behind her.

Quinn moves closer.

He takes several long steps towards the house before he reaches the lock gate. He halts before he moves next.

What the hell are you doing, Quinn thinks. Pull it together. You can't go looking through her trash.

A voice comes from behind him.

"I'm sorry, can I help you?" the woman asks.

Quinn turns quickly around, to find an unfamiliar woman with dark hair and eyes standing before him. She's carrying several shopping bags, and is dressed in a pale green cardigan and black jeans.

"No, I just-" he starts.

She knows who he is, his eyes give him away – they are the eyes of her grandson.

"You. What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I'm sorry- I don't-" Quinn nervously says.

"Look, I don't know what you're hoping to achieve by coming here. I'm sorry, I am. But it's been over two years since you've seen Julia. She doesn't want to see you. You're a reminder."

"I'm sorry..I'm a reminder of what? I don't follow."

The woman falters. "You don't know?"

The feeling in Quinn's chest intensifies.

"Don't know what?" he frowns.

The woman's eyes swell with heavy tears. "I'm sorry, I thought you would have found out for yourself. John Jr. passed, two years ago."

Quinn's heart stops.

"I'm-What-I-" he stutters, unable to form proper words.

"He had a lot of problems with his heart. I'm sorry for your loss, I am. But you shouldn't be here. It's painful enough for Julia. You need to leave."

* * *

Quinn left because he had to, because he had no right to be there, because he was absent for all of his son's life so he believes he has no right to call him his son.

Quinn falls against the park bench, legs wobbly and unable to stand, heart pounding, head throbbing to split open. He drops his head down, and vomits on the ground several times before he is able to breathe again.

He tries to stand but again falls back down against the park bench.

His breathing is heavy and unsteady.

His hands shake and his mind races with painful thoughts.

Tears fall down his cheeks, gasping sobs rise in his throat and pass his lips. He cries loudly, and he doesn't care who hears. He tries to steady his breathing but fails, he knows he will soon go into some sort of breathing attack or fit for he can barely manage to swallow any air.

He wipes harshly at his tears, but they don't cease.

They fall heavier.

His vision becomes blurry and clouded.

And all the while, he hears Carrie's loud and constant, harsh but true words in his mind.

_You really don't feel anything, do you, Quinn?_

And he wants to shout at her, he wants to shout at himself.

_I feel everything, Carrie_, he wants to shout!

He wants to shout that he feels everything and he hates it, he hates this feeling, he hates himself and all that he is, all that he never was and all that he failed to do, and he hates the feelings and thoughts that arise when he thinks of the family he never had and the family he could have had.

But above all, above everything that he hates, Peter Quinn hates being human.

* * *

**A/N: I apologise for the late update. I hope you like this new chapter..I plan to delve deeper into Quinn's past with his brother, and his mother and father, and this will in turn show why Quinn could never be a part of his son's life. Thanks for sticking with my story and reading it..**

**Dear guest reviewer: Violet:  
**Hello, Violet :) I'm really glad that you enjoy reading my story, thank you for reading it. I hope we get more of an insight into Quinn's past in the next season too. Thanks so much. I hope you enjoy this chapter. x

**Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. x**


	7. Curiosity

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

**A/N: I apologise for the note here but I want to inform the reader that this story will stick closely to the characters in the show and therefore it will contain swearing.**

* * *

The iciness of the air shot right through Quinn's trench-coat as he rose slowly upwards, it hit his chest harshly and seeped into his wounds which weren't bandaged.

His eyes open slowly, blurry at first but quickly coming into focus, to find that he is resting on a sticky park bench and that it is much darker outside than earlier. He pulls his body upwards, so he is no longer slumped against the bench. When it finally hits him, where he is and why he is here, he feels sick.

Quinn leans over and puts his head against his hands, resting his hands on his knees.

He shuts his eyes and tries to focus on his breathing which has already become heavier.

"You okay, man?" he hears a voice asking.

Quinn doesn't reply.

"Do you need to call someone?" he asks.

Quinn looks up slowly to find a short haired man, dressed in a light brown sweater and grey pants, bending over in front of him.

"What the fuck do you want?" Quinn asks, coming across as harsh and rude.

"I saw you passed out on the bench. I tried to see if anyone nearby knew you-" he starts.

Quinn stands unsteadily for the bench, finding that he has to use this strangers shoulder to prop himself up. He feels uncomfortable already, leaning on this stranger.

"You want me to drive you to the hospital? You got blood all on your clothes."

"What time is it?" Quinn asks loudly, ignoring everything the man has said.

He checks his watch. "Five thirty in the afternoon."

"You need a lift to the hospital, man?" he asks.

Quinn shakes his head. "I need you to mind your own fucking business. That's what I need. Alright? So, shut your mouth and walk away."

"Whoa. Okay, I'm just trying to help you out, you look like shit." he replies.

Quinn sighs as he steps away from him, eventually turning his back on him. "Yeah, well..Thanks but no thanks."

* * *

When Carrie enters work the next morning her eyes come across a sight she certainly didn't expect to see; Peter Quinn, dressed neatly in a long-sleeved black shirt and tight navy pants. His cuts and bruises have worsened, but his eyes aren't as red, they aren't as bloodshot.

What stands out to Carrie the most is the injury that Brody inflicted on Quinn; the bruise that runs down Quinn's face looks painfully sore and swollen, but when he sees her he smiles like he doesn't feel it.

"Carrie." he says.

She lifts and eyebrow and places a hand on her hip. "What are you doing here?"

She sounds tired, impatient almost he notes.

"A word?" he suggests, taking a step towards her with the cane firmly in his hand.

"Who let you in here?" she frowns, knowing Saul wouldn't let this happen.

"Does it matter?" he replies.

Carrie curses and sighs. "Yes, it matters, Quinn. You shouldn't-" she starts.

"A private word, Carrie?" he asks.

She pauses as she considers his words, before she nods quickly and suggests that they go outside. Quinn follows Carrie slowly, with aching limbs.

"What do you want?" she asks, remembering exactly how their last meeting ended.

"To forget it all." he says simply.

She doesn't buy it.

"Really? You want to forget about what we accused you of doing, and of what Brody-"

"Yes, Carrie." Quinn abruptly says.

She pauses.

"I don't believe you."

"That doesn't surprise me, but I don't care." Quinn counters.

Carrie nods. "That doesn't surprise me."

"What I said was out of line, and I'm sorry." he says.

"Really? Peter Quinn saying sorry?" she nearly smirks, like she can't believe it.

"Yes." Quinn says through teeth that are almost gritted.

He feels like he's wasting time out here, when he could be inside doing more important things.

"I'm sorry for all of it. And I'll sit down with Saul, and you if you'd like, and talk through the warehouse so you have the details for the report." Quinn says quickly.

"Okay." Carrie says, a small smile on her face. "Thank you."

"Can I come back to work now, please?" he nearly begs. "I'm fine, Carrie."

"Really?"

Quinn nods. "Really. Come on, Carrie."

"Okay." she sighs, after careful consideration.

She decides she'll keep a close eye on him. "You can come back to work."

Quinn manages a small smile. "Can I get in the interrogation room with Brody again?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Quinn?!" she exclaims. " As if that's going to happen. Is that what this is about? Your fucking revenge plan!"

"No, Carrie. It's not about my revenge plan, and I'm not out of my mind. This is about catching Nazir's guys before anything else happens." Quinn answers, honestly.

She just doesn't believe it.

"You're not going in there." she shakes her head.

"I'll be civil." he promises.

She doubts him. "You don't know how to fucking be civil."

"You can have me patted down, or if you like you could do it yourself." he playfully suggests.

Carrie sighs and rolls her eyes. "You're not going in. Saul won't let it happen, besides we have no reason to bring Brody in."

"Actually, we do." Quinn answers.

She frowns. "What? What's the reason?"

"It's not so much a reason as it is a hunch. I couldn't stop thinking about everything he said, and all that he didn't say. You just have to trust me on this one." Quinn replies casually.

"Whether I trust you or not doesn't factor into this at all." she says.

"Carrie."

Carrie steps closer towards Quinn. "I can't let you do this. We have no reason to bring Brody in, and who knows what will happen when you two get in the same room again. It went to hell the last two times, what will make this time any different? Hm?"

"Carrie." he says firmly.

"What?" she sighs.

"Do you trust me?"

She frowns and gives him silence.

"Do you?" he repeats.

"Yes." she finally answers. "I trust you."

"Good. That's all you need to know. Now, get me into a room with him and I'll get you answers."

Carrie sighs. "Fuck. You owe me."

"A drink after work?" he suggests, because he could use the distraction.

"Make it three." she says.

"Deal." Quinn smiles.

"Don't get too cocky," she steps past him. "You've got to convince Saul yet."

Much to Carrie's surprise, and Quinn's, Saul said yes.

He was, at first, surprised about seeing Quinn at work but like he said to Carrie he always knew that Quinn would return. Saul considered Quinn's proposal and eventually accepted his deal, and it was settled that while Brody was travelling to their location Quinn would sit down with Carrie and Saul and give them a statement of sorts.

Quinn sits down slowly on the cold metal chair, watching as Carrie and Saul take a seat across from him in the interrogation room.

"Really? It has to be in here?" Quinn lifts an eyebrow.

Saul nods. "This is the most private room here. Unless you want the three of us to jump into a bathroom stall and conduct this in there."

Quinn stays silent.

"Didn't think so." Saul comments. "We know what happened up until the point Carrie was dragged out of the room. Did Nazir say anything to you then?"

Quinn answers without hesitation. "No."

"Did Nazir's man say anything?" Saul questions.

"No."

"So, why don't you tell us what happened next?" Saul asks.

Quinn releases a heavy sigh before he glances towards Carrie. Then, he looks back at Saul and continues. "From what I remember, and a lot of it is unclear..The first shot hit my shoulder. Then they took Carrie, and they releases the handcuffs and shoved me to the ground. I remember the man told me to get down on my knees, and..."

Quinn pauses, recalling about how all he could think about in this moment was Carrie and how he had to do this for her, how he had to save her.

But Quinn doesn't say what he silently thinks, he keeps those thoughts to himself.

"Nazir's man fired the next shot. I thought it was going to be a head shot, but it was to my lower abdomen." Quinn says.

He halts again.

"Then what?" Saul asks.

_Then, I thought I was going to die, _Quinn thinks.

"Then, there was a lot of blood." Quinn laughs dryly, although nothing about this situation or the moment he was bleeding out heavily is amusing. "They shot again, I don't know.. as I was moving and it hit my knee..And er, next thing I know I'm up...Nazir's guy is down with a bullet in his head and I've just pulled the trigger on Nazir. That's it."

* * *

"You know, Saul..We are stupid for letting him back in there," Carrie says, as she and Saul exit the interrogation room and leave Quinn behind.

"For letting him go in with Brody at all."

"He was patted down." Saul answers.

Carrie shakes her head. "Saul. Come on. It's Quinn. He's got a knife, or a gun, somewhere on his body. We all know it. And his cane can be used as a weapon, we witnessed that last time."

"Do you trust him?" Saul asks, turning to Carrie.

She nods. "Yeah, I do."

"So do I. We just have to trust that he knows what he's doing. Besides, he seems better today. More together. Don't you think?"

Carrie nods, a smile on her face as she does. "Yeah, I do."

"We just have to go with our gut feeling, and mine is saying that Quinn is on to something here. We'll just wait it out and see." Saul answers.

Quinn only waits several minutes in silence, which he doesn't mind but instead finds rather comfortable, before Brody is escorted into the interrogation room. Once he enters, it's almost like Brody has to fight a smile at the sight of Quinn.

"Are you back for round two?" Brody asks.

Quinn smiles pleasantly. "Why don't you shut the fuck up and take a seat, Brody?"

Brody walks towards the chair slowly, releasing a sigh as he takes a seat and looks up to Quinn who sits directly opposite him.

"Don't you have anything better to do than interrogate me for answers I don't hold?" Brody asks.

Quinn's smile vanishes. "I offered my services, my knowledge, my expertise and my position in the CIA to Abu Nazir."

Brody's smile falters before disappearing entirely. "What?" he frowns.

"I offered my services, my knowledge, my expertise and my position in CIA to Abu Nazir when he held me captive." Quinn repeats.

Silence fills the small room.

Quinn half leans back. "And do you know what happened next?"

"You took your offer back?" Brody asks.

He shakes his head once. "My offer stood there. Abu Nazir declined it. Please, tell me, Brody..Why would he do that? Why do you think he'd decline an offer as tempting as that?"

"I don't know." Brody answers.

"You're lying." Quinn shakes his head.

"I'm not. I don't know why he'd refuse you." Brody replies.

"I could think of only several probable reasons why Nazir would decline. My first, is that perhaps he thought I wouldn't go through with my end of the deal, that I'd never help him and I couldn't be trusted. But then I thought on it, and I've had a lot of time to do thinking about it all, and I came to the conclusion that he wouldn't decline for that reason...I mean, when he first recruited you he couldn't trust you. Right?": Quinn says.

Brody stays silent, watching Quinn closely as he does.

"But he still used you. So, why did Nazir deem me, a man more experienced than you, unusable? Not needed?" he asks.

Brody considers his words before he speaks again. "Because he already has everyone he'll need?"

"Precisely, Brody!" Quinn exclaims loudly. "It dawned upon me. Nazir already has someone with a skill-set like mine, and he doesn't just have anyone. He has an American. Not you though, because your usefulness only went so far with him. Nazir boasted that all he had planned was achieved. So, he already planned this far – he planned what would happen after his death, it's already been set in motion and all that we can do is try to stop it before it happens. He has everyone he needs for the job already, it's all laid out! There's just a few pieces of the fucked up puzzle missing, and it would be very useful if you could help us fill those missing pieces."

Brody pauses. "How?"

Quinn slides a piece of paper and a pen towards Brody.

"Start by writing down all of the names of Nazir's associate, the ones you heard of and the ones you came into contact with then and any of the recent time. But – Try to focus on the ones that you briefly heard mentioned, the ones never spoken of frequently. And if you can't put a face to a name, we'll get a drawer in."

"I don't understand why you want me to go through this again. Records have already been made about the associates I remember."

"I wasn't done." Quinn sighs.

"I want you to stick specifically to the American names, or any names that sounded quite strange or stood out. I know, you've been through this. But once we're done, we're done, and we don't have to see your face around here for a little while. That is, until you fuck up again and then I'll gladly bring you in."

"Quinn," Carrie calls out loudly, as he steps out towards her.

"What? I played nice, Carrie. I don't know what the fuck you want from me." he sighs.

"No. I was just going to say that I think the idea you have might lead to something, but we've been through every associate that Brody mentioned."

"Yeah, well, there's no harm in looking in twice. I took a look into the owner of the warehouse and found it was unowned, abandoned, and so I dug a little deeper, made a couple calls, and found that twenty years ago it belonged to a Mr Barton, we already looked into him but there was nothing new. But when I contacted him again, just to tie up a few ends, he mentioned something new. He co-owned the warehouse, with a Mr Joseph Parker. It was never officially listed though. I thought we could check that out, give him a personal visit just to see."

"What, and just leave Brody in there?" Carrie asks.

Quinn shrugs and reaches for his jacket. "He's got a crayon and some paper, he'll have some fun."

"Once he's given us all he can, we'll let him go." Saul adds in.

Carrie nods. "Alright. I'll go with Quinn to check out Mr Parker?"

"Okay. Just keep me in the loop, okay?" Saul goes out.

Carrie follows Quinn quickly out of the door, calling out loudly to Saul as she does.

"Okay!"

* * *

Carrie chucks a side glance at Quinn, as before quickly putting her eyes back onto the road as she drives towards their new location.

"You're not sulking because you don't get to drive, are you? Besides, we remember what happened last time you got behind the wheel." she says.

He shoots her a look. "No, I'm not sulking, Carrie."

She frowns slightly, but the smirk remains on her face. "Does Peter Quinn really have nothing to say?"

"I'm just thinking. Silently. You should try it sometime." he retorts.

She scoffs. "What's wrong with you? You got everything you wanted: you're back at work, and you got to interview Brody."

Quinn says nothing.

"Can I just ask..What re-sparked your interest into this? Into work? I mean, a day ago-" she starts.

"A day ago, things were different." he cuts over her.

She sighs. "All I'm saying is..You deserve a break, Quinn. Time outside of work. I know, work is who you are. It's who I am too. You and I, we're the same when it comes down to this. But..All I'm saying is after everything, you should take some time. Even if it's just an afternoon off."

"The concern is touching, Carrie, but unnecessary nonetheless."

"Quinn." she sighs again.

He rolls his eyes and turns to her. "And what would you have me do, on this 'afternoon off' that you speak of?"

"I don't know. Whatever it is you do in your free time."

"I don't have free time." he replies.

"You have time to drink." she says.

An almost uncomfortable silence follows.

"What I mean, Quinn, is that you should take time to just..Try to feel normal. What I'm saying is..Go out with your friends, see your family. Or what about the ER Nurse?"

"I had a cat once, Carrie. Notice my use of past tense. 'Had' a cat."

She frowns. "What does a cat you had have to do with a nurse?"

"Do you know what happened to the cat, Carrie? Curiosity killed it."

"Ooh. The ER Nurse subject is touchy. Peter Quinn, do you like her?" Carrie smiles, lifting an eyebrow.

"I don't see her anymore." he answers. "And we're not talking about this."

Carrie shakes her head. "We're not done talking about it. You have to see someone out of work."

"I see you."

"That doesn't count." she answers.

Quinn thinks otherwise.

"It counts." he counters.

"I met a bartender the other day." he says.

"Quinn."

"What?" he scoffs. "Do you want me to apologise for the fact that my social life isn't as thriving as your sex life?"

Carrie's expression hardens instantly.

Quinn surpresses a laugh. "Okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that one."

"Yeah, yeah." she mutters. "You know, after consideration I think I'd prefer if you sat there with your mouth shut. Thinking silently, although I don't know how much thinking goes on in that big ol' empty thing."

Quinn shrugs carelessly. "Fine with me."

Several moments of silence follow, with Carrie thinking constantly of Quinn and how lonely a life he leads. She finds herself thinking of other thoughts, thoughts of curiosity about why he keeps bringing up her sex life and why he stopped seeing the ER Nurse. She decides that it's probably just because he's bored, and that there's probably nothing deeper to it than that.

There is another question playing on Carrie's mind; _Why do I care who he's seeing?_

Carrie shakes herself out of her thoughts of Quinn and turns to him, finding his eyes settled on the road, an empty expression on his face.

"Why are you watching me?" he asks, not even glancing towards her.

"I was just wondering.." she starts but falls silent.

He sighs. "Wondering what, Carrie?" he eventually asks.

"Why you don't talk about him." she says.

He frowns. "Who?"

And then it hits him.

It hits him harshly, like the car smashing up into his side or the bullet hitting his stomach. It hits him harder than he thought it would after he shut it down, and he's almost overwhelmed by it, almost destroyed by it.

"Carrie.." he becomes almost frighteningly serious, as he turns to her.

And then his eyes dart towards the house that they are nearing with each passing second.

"We're here."

* * *

_A/N: Hi all. :) Firstly, just a big thanks to everyone who reads my story it means a lot. A special thanks to the reviews on the last chapter._

_I know that this chapter doesn't really focus in any way on what Quinn's dealing with and how he's dealing with this loss, but I felt that he would be the kind of person to try to shut it down at first. Of course, shutting it down never really works for long._

_Thanks for reading._

**_Dear Guest 6/26/13. chapter 1:  
_**_Hi there :). I know, the last chapter was very heart-wrenching to write. Thank you, I'm glad you think that I write Quinn well. He definitely does deserve a break and I promise it's coming very soon. x_

_x_


	8. Mind games

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

**A/N: I apologise for the note here but I want to inform the reader that this story will stick closely to the characters in the show and therefore it will contain swearing.**

* * *

Quinn and Carrie arrive at Mr Parker's last known address, taking a closer look at the house before they decide to enter it. It is a small brown house, with a messy lawn and a truck parked out the front.

They move slowly through the weeds and uncared for pathway until they reach the doorway. Quinn steps forward, past Carrie, and knocks several times until he hears a voice shout out that they are coming.

They wait only a few seconds before the wooden door is opened to reveal a tall man with dark, greying, hair and a thick beard. He's dressed in a red and blue tartan shirt and dark brown pants.

"Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested." he moves to shut the door.

"We're not selling anything. We're with the CIA.." Carrie says quickly.

She slides past Quinn and slots her foot between the door.

"We'd just like a word." she says. "Are you Joseph Parker?"

"Yes." he nods, brow furrowed with suspicion. "Who are you? What do you want here?"

"I'm Carrie Mathison and-" she begins.

"I'm her partner, Quinn." he smirks.

Carrie shoots him a look but does nothing to correct him.

"Okay. Er..Come right in.." Joseph states, opening the door further so they may enter.

Carrie enters first, followed closely by Quinn. His eyes flicker over the inside of the house quickly before he turns towards Joseph.

"Mr Parker, we want to speak to you about the warehouse that you owned twenty years ago."

"Ah. That old thing." Joseph sighs. "I sold it, like you said, twenty years ago. I don't know why I keep getting bothered about the damn old thing. Was worth more than it cost. Always failing and breaking down."

Quinn frowns slightly, inching closer towards Joseph as he does.

"You've been asked about the warehouse prior to our visit, Mr Parker?" he asks.

Mr Parker nods. "Yes, well..Er. Not I. My son, Joseph Jr..He's here, if you'd like to speak to him."

Carrie nods enthusiastically. "Of course. That would be very helpful."

"Joey," Joseph calls out. "We've got visitors."

The sound of a door opening and closing, footsteps nearing, and then a deep sickly cough echoes through the silent house. The door to the living room slides open and Joseph Jr. appears.

Quinn's features immediately form a frown, as he vaguely remembers this man but he pushes the thought away as he believes it's just his memory replaying the image of the photograph he viewed seconds earlier.

Carrie casts her eyes over Joseph Jr., who is a tall, dark haired man with an obvious limp to his walk and several scars clear to all who settle their eyes down upon him.

"What is it, Pa?" he asks.

Joey frowns as he looks between Carrie and Quinn.

"I'm Carrie Mathison, with the CIA." Carrie begins.

"You're the ass from the park." Joey smirks.

"Excuse me?" Carrie frowns, immediately confused and slightly offended.

"Ah!" Quinn exclaims loudly. "That's why you look familiar!" he smirks.

Carrie shoots him a look. "What?"

"You remember? You were so-" Joey begins.

"I'm with the CIA. We need to talk to you about the warehouse that your family once owned. Your father mentioned that you were confronted about it some time ago." Quinn quickly says.

If he blacks out what happened, if he doesn't allow himself to think about it, then it never happened. If he doesn't remember it, if he doesn't talk about what happened with John Jr., then he doesn't have to feel it and it won't be real.

"Yeah. This guy, er..I don't know. He came up to me while I was working, like five months ago – give or take a month. He wanted to buy it from us, but I told him we'd already sold it. He seemed sick. Sweaty forehead, shaky palms. Didn't look well at all, so I recommended that he head down to the hospital." Joey informs them.

Carrie takes down notes.

"You didn't think to inform anyone?" Quinn asks loudly.

Joey frowns slightly. "Who? Tell the police? They're busy enough without chasing after a man who, what? Was interested in purchasing a warehouse? Look, after thinking on it I realised it was probably nothing. I told him we sold it to Jack Albertson, twenty years ago. That's the last involvement we had with it."

"Can you describe him to me?" Carrie asks.

"Tall, dark hair. Scruffy beard, like he hadn't shaved in months. Long hair too - but it was really thin. He was wearing a plain white shirt, and er..Black pants I think. They might have been brown. He had a wedding band and he, er...He had a couple scratches on his hands, but I didn't really get a good look at his face."

Quinn nods. "Did he give you a name?"

"Er...Johnny something." Joey shrugs.

Carrie pauses. "Johnny?"

"Yeah. Er..." Joey starts quietly.

"We might need something a little more specific than that." Quinn snaps.

It comes to Joey now. "Jonathan."

Quinn falters but not noticeably so, his mouth becomes dryer and he feels his palms slowly becoming sweatier by the second.

"I'm sorry...Jonathan?" Quinn frowns.

"Yep, that was definitely it." Joey nods.

Carrie writes it down.

"Did he give a last name?" she asks.

"Yeah," Joey nods again, "Hunter. He said that his name was Jonathan."

Quinn shuts his eyes briefly, he takes a step back and sighs heavily.

Luckily, his sudden shift in appearance slides past Carrie unnoticed.

Quinn takes a step towards the door, speaking as he does. "That's all we'll be needing today, thanks for your time."

Carrie turns towards him quickly, a frown already plastered on her face.

"Whoa, what-" she begins to object.

"Come on, Carrie." Quinn reaches for her shoulder.

"Time to go." he tries to lead her away.

She glances back at Joseph and Joey, before she says quietly.

"Would you excuse us for one moment?"

Joseph and Joey nods. "Sure." they respond in union.

Carrie moves as Quinn ushers her out of the front door and onto the lawn. She turns back towards him quickly and fights the urge to shout at him.

"What the fuck, Quinn?" she snaps. "We aren't done in there. What's going on?"

He gives her no answer and remains silent, like he's thinking things over, like he's trying to figure something out in his head.

"What's gotten into you?" she asks.

His head snaps in her direction. "What are you talking about?"

"What's going on?" Carrie crosses her arms. "You're weird."

Quinn scoffs and steps back. "Well, I think that's a little fucking insulting."

She inches closer and gestures towards him. "What's insulting is the way you shoved me out of that fucking house."

He turns his back on her.

"Quinn." she sighs. "Talk to me."

He doesn't.

"Tell me what the fuck is going on, now." she demands.

"I think someone is playing with my head." he breathes out.

Her frown deepens. "What?"

He snaps back towards her with icy eyes. "Can I be any fucking clearer than that, Carrie?"

"Okay, okay." she lifts her hands up in the air. "Talk to me, Quinn. Who is playing with your head? Joey?"

"No. Not fucking Joey. I don't know. Nazir's men..." Quinn scratches at his forehead.

Carrie moves up in his face. "Did they contact you, Quinn? Why the fuck didn't you-

"No. I don't know. Maybe? Okay. Maybe." he answers slowly.

_This_ sets her off.

"How the fuck can they 'maybe' be contacting you? Through smoke signal? Pigeon? Please, explain now or I'm going to Saul." she threatens.

He simply looks at her, like he already knows how this is going to play out, like he knows that she isn't going to Saul until he wants her to.

"No, you're not doing that." he says simply.

Her frown deepens, she turns towards him with tired eyes.

"What? Why can't I, Quinn?"

He looks around the area surrounding them before he reaches for her shoulder, she rips her arm away from him and meets his gaze directly.

"What is going on, Quinn?"

"We can't do this here." he grabs tightly onto her arm, dragging her towards the car.

"What?"

He releases her once they near the car.

"Get in the car, Carrie."

She doesn't move. "What?"

"Get _in_ the car, Carrie." he instructs.

She doesn't move a foot forward.

"Quinn..." she sighs, sounding beyond the point of exhaustion. "I don't-"

"Get in the fucking car now, Carrie. I'll explain it when I come back."

She shakes her head and continues to stand firmly outside of the vehicle.

"Explain it now, or I'm not getting it."

He leans down towards her. "Get in or I won't explain it."

She stays silent, shaking her head once more.

He sighs. "Carrie, I'm not asking you."

"What, are you going to throw me over your shoulder and carry me in? No, I don't think so. I'm not getting in until you talk to me." she replies confidently, like there is nothing he can say to change her mind.

"Carrie..." his voice softens. "Please, get in the car."

"Tell me why." she stands firm.

"I'll tell you when I come back," he says, "Trust me on this."

"You know-"

"Trust me."

"Fine."

* * *

After regaining his composure, Quinn returns inside the house and smiles pleasantly at Joseph and Joey. He makes up an excuse for Carrie's absence, stating that she needed to make a call, and then asks if he may speak with Joey alone. Joseph agrees and leaves the two in the living room.

The moment that the two of them are alone, Quinn whips out his knife, slams Joey back against the wall and places it harshly against his neck.

"Tell me about the man who contacted you." Quinn almost hisses.

"I told you everything-" Joey starts.

Quinn shakes his head, his eyes hardened, determined, and set on him.

"No, you didn't. Tell me _all_ of it, Joey."

"That's all I know. I don't know what the hell you want from me." Joey responds.

"How did you know I'd be at that park, at that _exact_ time?" Quinn asks angrily.

"What the fuck, man? I was taking a walk." he snaps.

"Who are you working for?" Quinn asks.

"I work for my Pop, at a store down-"

Quinn pushes the knife harder against his neck, but still not hard enough to draw blood.

"I stabbed the last guy who lied to me," Quinn says, with a dangerously low voice. "Don't think you'd be an exception, because you're not."

"Fuck." Joey sighs. "Look, I'm just working for my Pop. Okay? The guy who approached me, Jonathan...I was working at a grocery store part time as well, back then. He came up to me, asked me about the warehouse. That was it. That was all of it."

"Did you see his car?" Quinn questions.

"Yeah. No, no I just saw the colour. It was dark blue. Small. I couldn't see the make really." he answers.

"Was he alone?"

Joey answers loudly. "Yeah, as far as I knew. Look, can't you lower the fucking blade, man?"

"What else? What did his accent sound like?" Quinn questions, remaining still, his knife staying pressed to his neck.

"He was American."

Joey pauses. "There's something else..."

Quinn sighs. "What?"

"_He_ told me." Joey says quietly.

"What?" he frowns, loosening the pressure of the blade. "Who?"

"The way he came up to me..." Joey shuts his eyes briefly. "He said I looked healthy, asked if I ran. I said I did occasionally."

Quinn groans. "This better have a fucking point."

"It does." Joey assures him. "He told me about that park – the one I found you in. He told me it was a nice location, and that it was real good for running."

Quinn drops the blade and steps back.

A moment of silence passes, but doesn't last long.

"And he definitely said his name was Jonathan Hunter?" Quinn asks finally.

Joey nods, fixing up the collar of his shirt as he does. "Yes."

"What was the name of the grocery store you used to work in?"

"It was more like a fruit shop-"

Quinn shoves him a piece of paper. "Just write down the fucking name and address, Joey."

Joey takes the pen and scrawls it down quickly.

"Why'd you stop working there?" Quinn questions.

"My pop needed more help with the shop."

"Okay." Quinn nods, placing his knife slowly back into the pocket of his pants. "We'll be in contact. And if he contacts you, or anyone else, you call this number..."

Quinn quickly scrawls down the number and teas off the page, passing it to Joey. "You got it?"

"Yeah. I got it." Joey nods.

Quinn shares a brief look with Joey before he nods and turns.

"Thanks for your time."

* * *

**A/N: Hi! sorry about the late update. I got a little stuck with this chapter and then had some issues with my computer, but here's the Parker family who might possibly be involved later on...You will see (just like you will see more of Quinn's history in the next chapters) Thank you, very much, to everyone who takes the time to read my story. **

**Enjoy.  
X**


	9. The clouded truth

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

**A/N: I apologise for the note here but I want to inform the reader that this story will stick closely to the characters in the show and therefore it will contain swearing.**

* * *

Carrie waits in the silence of the car for two minutes before Quinn steps out of the front door. It slams shut behind him. He moves slowly from it, and irritated look spreading over his face. She fights a smile, and bites down on her bottom lip. He always looks irritated, or pissed off, and his current physical condition would only be adding to that.

He moves slowly from the front door, shoving what looks like a small note-pad into the pocket of his pants. He half walks, half limps, with the cane resting securely in his hand. It's almost like he's taking his time walking to her, like he's taking a leisurely stroll, and when he eventually reaches the car and opens the passenger door Carrie shouts at him.

"Thanks, Quinn!" she calls out. "Take your time with the leisurely route when we've got work to do."

A frown crosses his face. "I was thinking, you should try it sometime."

Carrie rolls her eyes and ignores his comment.

He slides into the seat, closes the door, and moves to pull his seat-belt across. "Okay. Let's drive now."

Now she frowns. "You said you'd give me answers, Quinn. You said-"

"I know what I said, Carrie. Start the car and drive it."

"Where are we even driving to? Back to base?" she keeps her eyes on him.

Quinn breathes out heavily. "Just turn around, and drive the way we came. Can you do that, Carrie?"

She almost pouts, and crosses her arms. "We had a deal, Quinn."

"It still stands." Quinn answers quietly.

"So, talk to me. Don't break our deal."

"You're right, we have a deal. I said I'd explain but I never said when."

"What's gotten into you?" she lifts an eyebrow, and it feels like her eyes are studying him.

He shifts under her gaze.

"Quinn?"

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" he snaps back.

Carrie pauses. "It means, you're acting weird again. And what's with the way you freaked out back there?"

"Carrie," his expression is entirely serious. "What about start the car and drive don't you understand? Do you need me to take the wheel? Are you incapable of following directions?"

Her eyes narrow in on him, and she shoots him a glare. "What's in your pocket, Quinn?"

His irritation grows. "What?"

"I asked what was in your pocket." she says slowly.

"Nothing." he lies. "Start the car."

"I saw you put a notepad-"

"Carrie." he stops her. "Start the car."

"Let me see." she pushes, stretching her arm forward.

He fights the urge to roll his eyes. "Start the fucking car, Carrie."

Carrie moves quickly. She unbuckles her seat-belt, and reaches across in an attempt to grab the notebook out of his pants. Quinn shifts and moves in his seat so she can't reach his pocket, and for a moment the two fumble awkwardly, until Carrie shifts and settles her elbows into his knees. He watches with amusement as she slips and her head falls directly down into his lap. She sits up immediately, confusion spreading over her face.

Quinn erupts into a deep laugh. "If you wanted to get into my pants _that_ bad, Carrie, all you had to do was ask."

Her cheeks flush, but he can't tell if it's with anger or embarrassment. She pulls away abruptly, slapping him harshly in the shoulder as she does.

"God. You're so frustrating!" she snaps, and brushes her hair back off of her face.

Quinn watches silently as she settles back into her seat. Carrie takes a moment to speak again and once she does all of her previous anger is gone.

"What do you have in that notebook anyway?" she asks seriously.

"Start the car and drive. Then we'll talk."

Carrie rolls her eyes, mutters something underneath her breath, and starts the car. She turns around, and heads back the way they came. They drive mostly in a thick, heavy silence that neither break until Carrie suddenly pulls the car to the side of the road and turns to Quinn. He'd previously been staring out the window, a stern expression resting on his features, but now he turns to her with confusion lurking in his eyes.

"What is it, Carrie?" he asks. "Don't tell me we're out of fuckin-"

"The car's fine, but we're not. You're not." she sighs, and switches off the engine. "You need to tell me what that, back there, was all about. You freaked me out."

"Yeah, well, you're used to it right? Because appa-" Quinn begins loudly.

"Quinn, this is serious." she tucks her hair behind her ears.

Her frown deepens. "You said Nazir's men we're trying to get in contact with you. Do you know how much of a big-"

"Yeah, I know, it's a big allegation to make especially since only like two fucking days ago you and Saul thought I was working for Nazir." he almost growls.

"Quinn," Carrie stops him. "We never thought that."

He sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his hair. "Mm."

"You need to tell me everything that they've said to you." Carrie turns to him, pulling out her notebook. "Please."

"I said maybe. Didn't I? I said the might have made contact."

"Okay." Carrie breathes out softly, trying to remain patient. "How? Did they send you a message?"

"No." his voice is quieter.

"Did they call you?"

Quinn shakes his head.

"Then what, Quinn? Talk to me. Okay? It's me." she says softly.

"I can't." he sighs softly.

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't know what I'm saying." he rubs tiredly at his forehead. "I'm tired."

Carrie's expression contorts into anger, and she bursts. "Oh, come on, Quinn! Don't give me that bullshit. You do know, you were wired up-"

"Come on, Carrie!" he snaps back. "Look at me - and I mean really look at my eyes. Don't you see how red they are? Can't you smell that whiskey, if you try hard enough? I'm still fucking hung-over. My head's messy, and clouded, and I really don't know what I'm saying."

And then he half smiles. "It's nothing-"

"You told me you were ready for this." she stops him. "You said you were fine."

Quinn's voice rings with a surprising calmness to it. "And I am. But I mean, come on, before...It was just a moment. Okay?"

"We can't afford to have moments like that, Quinn. Not in this work, and not when we're dealing with Nazir's guys. You need to pull your head together. I think you should take the rest of the day off and tomorrow." she says.

"No." he answers firmly. "I don't listen to your orders, Carrie. We work together, but you can't tell me to take time off. And you sure as hell don't have the right to tell me to pull my head together, alright? Because my head's pretty fucking intact, last time I checked."

She bites down on her bottom lip and observes him closely.

"If I tell you what's in the notepad, will you drop it?" he asks.

Carrie sighs and leans back in her seat. "Quinn..."

"It's the shop where Joey used to work. An address. It's where he was approached - someone else might have seen it happening, and there's probably a surveillance tape we can look into." Quinn says. "That's why I went back."

"Why did you shove me out of there?"

"Because I knew the guy."

"That doesn't explain it, Quinn. I don't...I don't think you're ready to be back." Carrie admits, her eyes still firmly resting on his. "I think you need time."

"Carrie-"

"Don't, Quinn." she answers quickly. "Don't tell me to trust you, because you know I do. You can't keep using that shit against me. I don't think you're at your best. Physically or mentally."

Silence follows.

"I'm not mentally at my best?" Quinn asks slowly, minutes later. "Well, you're half right there, Carrie. I'm physically slow. But mentally, I'm as good as I've always been. And weren't you saying we needed to mind our own business? Why don't you try that, Carrie. I'll stay out of yours, if it's clear that you're going to stay the fuck out of mine."

Carrie swings open her car door, slides out of the seat, and plops down onto the ground. She sighs loudly and runs her fingers through her hair with frustration. Quinn observes her silently for a moment, before he moves slowly from the car. He walks around the front of the car, and finds her standing with her hands on her hips and her lips pressed tightly together. Her eyes dart towards him, and she simply watches him.

"What do you want from me, Carrie?" he asks.

Quinn sounds exhausted.

"I want the truth, Quinn. You're right, I know you and I trust you - but all that stuff you just said wasn't true. It was bullshit. And I don't know why-" she starts.

He speaks loudly, cutting across her. "Because I know him."

"Who? Joey?" Carrie halts. "Yeah, I know. You said he found-"

"No." he stops. "Not Joey."

"Who?"

"Jonathon Hunter."

"Quinn, there are probably one thousand Jonathon-" she pauses. "Wait, you think he's involved with Nazir's guys?"

"No."

Carrie exhales deeply, running her fingers through her hair. She sighs and turns to face him completely.

"Then what, Quinn? What aren't you saying?" her eyes fall on him.

He swallows tightly, and somehow manages to meet and hold her gaze completely.

"Jonathon Hunter is the name of my father." he says, a surprising quietness to his voice.

She frowns slightly. "What?"

"My dead father."

"Why would one of Nazir's men use your dead father's name as a cover?"

Quinn pauses. "I don't know."

"I don't understand. How were they messing with you - why would they..."

"Because they planned this, Carrie. The warehouse was purchased months in advance. Do you think it's just another fucking coincidence that at the exact time I'm at the park-"

"What park is this?" she asks.

She watches as he hesitates obviously.

"It doesn't matter." Quinn finally responds.

"Of course it does." Carrie sighs, rubbing at her aching forehead. "And what I don't get is they couldn't have known four months ago that you would be the one to kill Nazir. There's no way they could have known that."

He shrugs effortlessly. "I don't know, Carrie..."

"Do you think Joseph Jr. lied about the time-frame?" she asks.

His frown deepens, but his tone remains low and holds no shreds of annoyance. "Why?"

"Intimidation, maybe. He could be scared, or paid off?" Carrie asks. "We can get eyes on their house. But we should talk to Saul-"

"And say what?" Quinn frowns. "That we have a name of a dead man? Hmm?"

"We should just let him know what we learnt today." Carrie moves closer. "Then we can start looking deeper into this."

Quinn doesn't object, like Carrie thought he might, instead he simply nods and keeps his lips pressed together. He watches her closely, never glancing away.

"Everything okay?" Quinn finally asks.

Carrie nods quickly, breathing out heavily as she does. "Yeah, yeah. I just don't know why they'd go to this much trouble, just to bring up a dead man. I mean - do you think the name Jonathon Hunter holds some sort of significance?"

"I don't know." he shrugs. "I don't."

"Well, let's go. We can talk about this on the drive back." she suggests, and begins moving past him.

He sighs and drops his head slightly, rubbing at his forehead. Eventually, his hand falls down to his side and he glances up at where she stands.

"Hey," Carrie stops by his side. "Everything okay?"

Quinn nods briefly. "Yeah. Let's go but...I think you were right, Carrie."

Confusion sweeps over her features. "About what?"

"I think I need to take the rest of the day, and tomorrow, off." he admits, looking up slowly. "I just need a day."

Carrie smiles, and nods. "Sure, it's fine. I'll drop you off back at base, and then you can head home. And...Quinn, thank you for being honest with me, for trusting me."

He nods one. "Yeah, well, trust goes both ways...Or so I've heard."

Quinn's eyes are quickly drawn away from Carrie's, and to his right pocket which buzzes, alerting him of an incoming phone-call. The number is unknown, and he hesitates at first before he answers it and presses it to his ear.

"Hello?" Quinn says, his eyes darting back towards Carrie.

She crosses her arms, presses her lips together, and watches him closely.

_"Hello? Is this...I actually didn't catch your name. You gave me your number earlier. Like-"_

"Joseph?" he frowns. "Joey Jr.?"

_"Yeah, er..It's me. I didn't know what else to call you, but as that asshole-"_

"You can call me Quinn." he answers quickly. "What's this about?"

_"Jonathon Hunter. That guy who came in."_

He rubs angrily at this forehead.

"What?" he comes off as harsh. "Didn't we just talk about this?"

_"Yeah, but you know, there were parts I forgot after you put that fuckin' knife to my neck, man. I didn't have to call you back." Joey answers quickly._

"Alright. So what do you want? What else do you have to say?"

_"He came up to me at the shop about five months ago, but that's not the most recent time we talked."_

"What do you mean, Joseph?" he asks.

_"What I mean is, after I quit work at the fruit-shop...One day he caught up with me, while I was waiting for a bus. That's when he said his name was Jonathon Hunter. I didn't remember at first, because his hair...It was different. He was shaved, and cleaned up, and he looked unrecognisable. He asked me a bit about the warehouse, and then said he was meeting with a friend."_

Quinn fights the urge to punch the car window.

"This could have been useful the first time we talked, Joseph." he maintains some sense of calm. "You better not be fucking with me."

_"What the hell? I have no reason to do that, man. I'm just saying, I forgot 'cause he looked different. He was sweaty though, like he'd been running."_

"Was he alone?" Quinn asks quietly.

_"Yes."_

"Did he say who he was meeting up with?"

_"He didn't say the first name. He just said he was meeting him at this place called Elbahi, or Elahi. Or something like that."_

"Did he have a car?"

_"No, not that I saw. But I remember he was wearing a green top, and brown pants."_

"When was this?" he scratches at the side of his head.

_"I don't know...Like, just under two weeks. It wasn't that long ago. I'm sorry."_

"Alright, Joseph. We're going to send a sketch artist to your house in the next day. Tell them all of this, but try to go into more detail. Okay?"

_"Okay. And look, I'm sorry, I didn't want to mess with your investigation or whatever this is...It's just when you put that blade to my neck-"_

"Okay. Thanks for your help."

Quinn ends the call there, and shoves the phone away in his pocket.

"Who was that?" her hands now rest on her hips, she has an eyebrow lifted with curiosity.

"Joseph fucking Parker." he rubs at his face. "Said he ran into the American again. Just under two weeks ago, he thinks, while he was waiting for a bus."

Carrie frowns. "He didn't remember?"

"Apparently not. He said that his hair was cut, beard was gone, and he was unrecognizable but he was sweating a lot. Like he'd been running."

"At the park?"

Quinn shrugs. "Don't know. You deal with this, and look into the park, it's my time off."

A smile plays on her lips. "Hey, you're only getting today and tomorrow off. So, this is your problem too."

"Yeah, well, until then it's not." he answers back, half smiling.

"Did he say anything else?" she asks.

Quinn shakes his head, and lies through his teeth. "Nothing helpful, just what clothes he was wearing and that he didn't have a car."

She silently considers this for a moment. "If it was under two weeks ago, that fits...That's right after you killed Nazir. It could be a message. But what are they trying to say?"

"That I have an X on my back?" his smile widens. "Come on, Carrie. You were right. What are the chances? There's at least one hundred people called Jonathon Hunter. It's just a coincidence, okay? Don't look too much into it."

* * *

Quinn waits impatiently outside of the telephone box on the corner of the street. After shooting several long, annoyed looks at the caller who had been on the phone for what felt like hours, the woman leaves looking just as annoyed as Quinn feels. She leaves, giving him a moment with the phone. He reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a handful of coins, after shoving in the coins he dials the number he'd been needing to call ever since he talked to Joseph on the phone.

Carrie had kept him for a little bit at base, just so he could tell her where the park was and so on. He gave her whatever details she needed just so he could get the hell out of there. Quinn was almost surprised that she didn't mention Jonathon Hunter, instead it was almost like she was avoiding mentioning him, and it had left him feeling better that she was keeping out of his life for now.

Quinn doesn't have to wait long for the caller to answer. He speaks immediately in a lowered, hushed voice. "I need you to do something for me."

He pulls up the collar of his trench-coat, as a cold breeze of wind sweep over his body. "I've got a couple names I need you to run."

Silence follows as Quinn listens to the call, his expression shifts quickly and his voice rises. "Because I'm asking you to do it. Okay? Just tell me how fast you can do this."

More silence.

"Okay. The names...Joseph Parker - Junior." he pauses. "Sajid Elbahi..or Elahi. Try both."

He pulls out a small piece of paper and scrawls down a few messy words on it; a location, a date and a time.

"Two days? That's a long fucking wait but it'll have to do. I'll meet you then. Don't be late."

* * *

**A/N: Hello! I'm so sorry about the late update. It was a combination of many things, and I was a little stuck on this story, but I've come through the block and here's the latest chapter. I'll try to update the next chapter sooner, and thanks for staying with the story!**

_**A special thanks to: **__**kili-grabmyhand, LondynNow, indigovioletstargazer, Guest and Tracy137 for their kind reviews of chapter 8.**_

**Guest review:**

**Guest 7/24/13 . chapter 8: **Hi! :) I'm terribly sorry about the late update of this new chapter, I'm happy to see you're enjoying the route this story is taking and I hope you like the latest update. Thank you very much for reading and reviewing. xx

**Thanks for reading & enjoy.**

**X**


	10. Connecting the lies

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

**A/N: I apologise for the note here but I want to inform the reader that this story will stick closely to the characters in the show and therefore it will contain swearing**

* * *

Quinn reaches for the lamp in the corner of the room, as the evening light begins to sift through his closed blinds. The light fills the room immediately and allows him to continue sifting and sorting through pages of paper, sheets of notes, photographs and newspaper clippings which he'd gathered during the afternoon. He returns to his seat on the ground, and looks down on the sheets of paper, his eyes skimming over them quickly.

He pulls away briefly, reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the floor. Quinn scoops it up, swallows a large mouthful, before he breathes out heavily and returns to the mass of paper and notes. He bends down before it, and scratches at the side of his neck feeling sweat roll down his forehead. He curses how hot the small apartment is, and stands abruptly deciding to take a shower. Quickly, he strips out of his clothes and moves into the small cubicle in the next room.

It takes him a few minutes to peel off the necessary bandages. He washes quickly but thoroughly, allowing the cool water to soak into his aching and bruised body. Once he has finished, he wraps a towel around his waist and heads out into the small kitchen. Rolls of bandages and cream rest on the small wooden table. He dries his body quickly, before effortlessly applying the necessary ointment to the effected and injured areas of his body. He covers the wounds with small bandages, before he unscrews his pill bottle and swallows a large mouthful.

His feet lead him to his sleeping bag. He reaches for the bags beside them, and pulls out a pair of black briefs and brown pants. Quinn quickly slides on his clothes, and then pulls up a thin shirt that he slides over his body. An involuntary moan passes his lips as the contact of the shirt catches on a tender wound. He curses silently, pulls the shirt down completely, and returns to the small chair placed before the paper.

Quinn sits down slowly, carefully skimming his eyes over the papers one last time before he picks up handful and stands again. He finds himself fighting the urge to curse again. His knees ache badly, and he has to take a moment before he moves again. Finally, he returns to the small table beside the kitchen sink and sets out the sheets of paper, identifying them as the important ones, the ones that shouldn't be lost with the others.

He looks down at his watch, and sighs because he has to pack up and leave for his meeting in ten minutes. And then he's back at work. For the past two days Quinn had avoided using or answering his phone, as he always did, and so he didn't have any idea what was going on at work with Carrie. Knowing her, she probably had some theory about the whole situation already and Quinn already felt stressed about having to answer questions about Jonathon Hunter. He returns to the small chair, briefly shuts his eyes, and breathes out slowly as his thoughts rush through his mind.

Minutes pass him by before he's sliding on his black coat, reaching for his walking stick, and swallowing one last mouthful from the bottle of whiskey. He locks the door once he's exited the room, and heads slowly down the small and damp staircase. The stairs are narrow, but he's grateful that there is a handrail. He uses the railing to assist himself in moving down, and once he's descended the stairs he checks his watch.

He still has time before the meeting, so he slows down and moves carefully out of the front door of the apartment complex. The air outside is cooler than his apartment, and he finds it surprisingly refreshing. It only takes him a few minutes to arrive at the location. A small, mostly empty diner on the corner of a street where it's too early for anyone in this part of town to be up yet.

Quinn slides into an empty booth carefully. When the waitress asks to take his order, he says he's waiting on a friend and it almost brings a smirk to his face. He stops himself and stares out of the large glass windows. He takes note of the cracks, or the stains on them, until his eyes are drawn outside to a somewhat familiar face crossing the road outside the diner. Light hair, dark eyes and a black trench-coat. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and a frown already rests on his features. He crosses the road, and walks quickly into the diner.

Silence follows as he takes a seat down in front of Quinn.

"You're late, Harry." the first words escape his mouth the moment his friend sits down. "I told you not to be late."

"A simple thank you would suffice." Harrigan remarks, eyes skimming carelessly over the menu. "Ah, excuse me, miss?"

He calls the attention of the waitress, who returns with a smile and asks to take their order.

Harrigan orders a coffee, while Quinn orders nothing.

Quinn sits stiffly in the booth. "Did you get it?"

"Did I get it?" Harrigan almost laughs. "Of course I fucking got it, otherwise I wouldn't have shown."

They wait until the waitress has returned with the coffee to speak. Harrigan drops two sugars in his coffee, and stirs it around until they've dissolved. Then, and only then, does he look up and find Quinn's piercing eyes settled on him.

"Here is..." he shifts, and pulls a file out of his jacket coat. "The relevant documentation on Joseph Parker Junior."

Quinn takes the file from him, and places it into the coat of his jacket. "And Sajid Elahi?"

"That's another story." Harrigan sighs, rubbing at his forehead.

For a moment Peter Quinn is completely silent, then he leans forward across the tables and lowers his voice.

"Then explain it to me because you're wasting my fucking time and you're testing my patience."

"If I'm such a waste, why don't you get someone else to run it?" Harrigan smiles. "Right, so how about you work on your fucking patience and show some gratitude? Hmm?"

A loud sigh passes Quinn's lips, he runs his hands through his hair and drops them to his side.

"Alright."

Harrigan half glances up. "Alright?"

"Yeah, alright." Quinn sighs.

"You look like shit, by the way."

A deeper frown crosses over Quinn's face. "Thanks."

"Wasn't a compliment." Harrigan sips from his coffee, sighing after. "Now, back to your guy Sajid. I pulled a couple things up on a Sajid Elbahi, but there's no Elahi. Now, you're guy, Elbahi is pretty non-existent. Nothing of interest. But I pulled up a couple things on a guy called Sajid Bari. I don't know how useful you'll find it, but...It's all yours. You might find it interesting."

"Thanks, Harry." he says quietly.

Harrigan pauses. "One more thing."

"What?"

"You need anything else, don't call me."

Quinn flashes him a toothy grin. "If I need anything, you're the first on my fucking list."

"Right. I was afraid you'd say that." Harrigan half smiles. "Just don't come to me with this shit that leads nowhere. Alright? I've got stuff to do."

"Really?" he sounds more than disbelieving.

"Yeah, really. And if you're going to keep calling in on those favours, quit being a dick about it."

Quinn stands slowly from the table, the files fitting comfortably in his jacket. A small smile still rests on his face, as he extends his hand to Harrigan who grips it and shakes it tightly.

"Take care of yourself, you really do look like shit." Harrigan responds quietly.

He nods in response. "You too."

With that, he turns away and zips up his jacket. His fingers clutch his the wooden cane, and he moves slowly from the diner his thoughts racing and urging him to move faster to return to his apartment. He needs to get back there and read the files, and he doesn't like the idea of bringing them to work with him unless they're relevant. Quinn moves with a surprising speed back to his apartment, and once he's back inside he locks the door and moves towards the small table.

He sits down and pulls out the three files, starting with the information on Sajid Elabhi. Harrigan was right, there is nothing of interest or relevance. The man in these files died three years ago. Quinn sighs with frustration and tosses the files to the ground, angrily picturing the smile on Harrigan's face knowing this file was of no use to him. He moves on to the next file, on Sajid Bari, but he doesn't match the face that Quinn remembers and his file is filled with a few petty crimes and small arrests.

His fingers pull out all the files on Joseph Parker, and he skims them carefully and slowly. He's ex-military, honourable discharged due to an injury. Quinn reads a little closer, skims over the necessary details, before he packs up the files and leaves his apartment feeling like he hasn't gained anything useful and that the past two days have been a waste of time.

* * *

Carrie stands in front of a large board, plastered with photographs, pages of information, names and documents when Quinn enters. He walks in silently, apparently unnoticed by those in the room, and has to clear his throat to get her attention. She looks back once, and turns away, before she realises it's Quinn and turns around again.

She smiles sheepishly. "Quinn, you're back."

She says it like she wasn't expecting him to come back in so soon, like she didn't want him in so soon.

"Mm." he steps towards her, eyes briefly skimming over the board. "You've been busy. How's it going?"

"Could have used your help, the last few days." her half smile remains.

Carrie lifts her hands to her forehead and brushes her hair away. She releases a deeply held sigh and turns towards him for a moment, noticeably casting a look at him. She's checking on him, to see how he's doing. He looks better than he did before, and this much is a relief to her.

"I'm sure you did just fine without me." he quickly replies.

She falters. "You look better."

Quinn simply nods, his attention and eyes suddenly drawn to the two sketches pinned up on the board. The two versions of the same man are strikingly different. The one on the left has a long, shaggy beard and thick hair. The cheekbones are drawn in and hollow, and a long scar runs down his right cheek. The man on the left has short hair, and his cheeks are fuller, and surprisingly the scar on his right cheek has vanished.

"Er, yeah." Carrie tucks her hair behind her ears, following his gaze. "We sent that sketch artist over to the Parker's. This is what he gave us."

Quinn lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. "This is supposed to be the same guy? The American?"

"Yeah." she crosses her arms. "This is what Joseph said."

A second of silence fills the air.

"Did Brody give us anything?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"A couple of names." she answers cautiously. "Nothing new, nothing we didn't already have. I looked into the Parker's again, and again, but it didn't reveal anything."

She turns to him, silently watching as he takes several steps closer to the board, and she knows that he's spotted it. The name Jonathon Hunter posted in big, black, bold letters with all the relevant documentation on his life and his death. Carrie watches him expecting something. She expects a human reaction. She waits for him to burst with anger, or to shout about his privacy being invaded, but instead he turns to her and smiles. The picture of calm. His eyes rest on her slowly, and he watches her with a hidden curiosity.

Suddenly, Carrie finds herself shifting awkwardly and uncomfortably under his gaze. But he doesn't look away, instead he looks at her closer, and it almost feels like he can see right through her and it leaves her with feelings she doesn't know how to handle.

"Yeah," Carrie clears her throat. "We dug a little deeper into the name Jonathon Hunter."

"Come up with anything?" his voice laced with a surprising calmness.

"Not really. Well, kind of...But nothing linking anyone named Jonathon Hunter to Nazir or his guys." Carrie answers.

Quinn observes her next actions.

She pauses speaking, bites down on her bottom lip and shoves her hands into the pockets of her pants. Then she glances up at him, a new expression on her face. He can read her easily. He can read her better than he's ever been able to read anyone before.

"You talked to Saul." he declares.

"Hm?" she looks up slowly. "About this...?"

"About my paranoia-"

"No, Quinn, I don't think it's paranoia." she quickly moves to his side. "You might be on to something, well at least I think so anyway."

A disbelieving look crosses his face. He shakes his head and sighs deeply.

"Really." Carrie nods quickly, enthusiasm ringing off of her voice. "I mean, I've been thinking about it over and over..."

"And?" he tilts his head slightly, eyes still resting on her.

"And the thing is.." her voice softens. "I keep coming back to you."

He swallows tightly, keeping all of emotions tightly held beneath the surfaces. For a fleeting second he struggles, but that passes and the next words pass his lips effortlessly.

"Is that so?"

Carrie nods again. "Yes, I mean...There's no other reason for them to use the name Jonathon Hunter. It's of absolutely no significance. The only reason that I can think they'd use it is if they wanted you to think they were watching you, or trying to communicate with you."

"Hm." he replies.

"And there are only two possible reasons why I think they'd make contact. The first...They want to kill you. The second is that for some reason they want to take you up on that offer you made to Nazir."

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well...Both of those sound fucking ridiculous, Carrie, and the only solution I can see to figuring out what the fuck is going on is sending me out there as bait, and seeing what I reel in."

"No fucking way, Quinn. That's not happening." she shakes her head, confidence booming from her voice. "No way."

"Carrie," he half smiles. "I was joking but your concern is touching."

Her expression eases, and she fights the urge to slap him in the shoulder again.

"You owe me four drinks now!"

"Oh, really?" he looks her way.

"Yes, really."

"Tonight, after work?"

"No, I have a feeling that tonight's going to be a late one for us." Carrie returns to the board. "But don't think I've forgotten about the drinks, because I haven't."

"I won't forget." he says, joining her side.

She turns his way, and smiles. "Good."

* * *

Quinn glances up from where he sits, at the long tables stacked and filled with sheets of paper, to find Carrie entering the room. She's running her fingers over her face, and then through her hair. He half smiles, and watches as she makes her way towards him.

They've spent most of the day coming to dead ends. No leads, no connections, and not much useful information. He feels tired, and then he looks at her and she looks even worse. She smiles when she catches his attention, tucking her hands into the pockets of her pants.

"You still up for that drink?" she asks.

He breaks out in a smile. "Of course I am. You got anywhere in mind?"

"What about the place around the corner?" Carrie suggests, her eyes lingering on him as he stands.

"Sure, if they still let me inside."

"You didn't break anything last time." Carrie's grin widens. "You just almost broke your back on the stairs."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Yeah, you were too drunk to feel it."

"Alright." Quinn sighs, joining her side. "Let's go."

The walk towards the bar is mostly silent, but it's a comfortable walk. Carrie asks Quinn to grab a table, and he slides into a small booth, while she orders the drinks. She returns with two whiskeys, and a smile on her face.

"I thought I owed you." he frowns slightly, curiosity filling his eyes.

"You do, but I figured I owed you too."

"Yeah." he leans back slightly. "What for?"

"You know, Quinn."

He understands. "Accusing me of working with Na-"

"That." she says quickly, sitting down in front of him. "But, also the-"

"Brody situation." he says.

A nervous smile spreads on her face. "That too. I didn't realise the list was that long."

"It's not. It doesn't have to be."

"What do you mean?" she asks quietly.

Quinn shrugs effortlessly. "Forget it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I know you didn't...mean it. And that shit with Brody is complicated for you, I get that."

"You get complication?" she asks.

"Yeah." his eyes narrow in on her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything, Quinn."

"Bullshit, Carrie. What was that supposed to mean?" he snaps back.

Carrie bites down on her bottom lip.

"What does it mean?" Quinn repeats.

"It just means...Your life seems pretty uncomplicated at the moment."

He almost looks amused. "What led you to that observation?"

"You're living arrangements, lack of friends...And so on."

"I suppose you're right." he answers finally.

"Aren't I always?" she smiles.

Quinn pauses. "Not always, but pretty close to it."

She breathes out shakily, holding his unwavering gaze.

"Let's drink to...Keeping things uncomplicated, or at least trying to."

"Easier said than done." he mutters.

Carrie smiles and hits her glass against his. "Well, we can at least try."

"Sure." he nods once.

Quinn flashes her a brief smile before swallowing from the glass, she watches him silently for a second before swallowing her glass. The rest of the night passes them by quickly. It is filled with laughter, chatter, and Carrie returning with drinks for the two of them. She switches to vodka, and drinks several, while Quinn stays on the scotch. By the end of the night, Carrie is drunker than the both of them. She's laughing loudly, telling him childhood moments, and complimenting his wardrobe.

Despite how amusing and entertaining Quinn finds the drunk version of Carrie to be, he knows that it's time to get her home and hobbles out of the booth. She takes his hand when he offers it to her, and slides her other arm around his waist.

"Out we go..." he whispers in her ear.

Her hair smells like lime as it brushes past him, he holds her tighter to stop her from falling and they move from the bar. He finds himself smiling at the idea of how they must look to people passing by. Bruised and drunk, clinging off each other, hobbling on unsteady legs and supported by a single wooden cane. He gets her to her car, and helps her to lean against it.

"You're too drunk to drive, Carrie, and so am I." he says.

She leans back against the car, and breathes in a deep, cooling breath of icy air. Carrie doesn't answer him, instead she looks up at the sky and makes a loud observation.

"How great...How great are stars." she mumbles. "They're great..."

His grin widens. "I'm going to call you a taxi, Carrie."

She shakes her head, dropping her eyes on to him. They swirl with light.

"The taxi will call you home, and you can walk." he tucks a strand of fallen hair behind her ear.

Carrie shakes her head again. "I don't wanna-I don't want to go home."

"Why not?"

"I don't." she sighs, biting down on her bottom lip. "I can't..."

A deeper frown flickers over his face. "Why can't you?"

"Because..We-We had a deal."

"What deal?" he asks patiently.

"You and me."

"What deal did we have, Carrie?" his grin returns, all traces of a smile disappearing.

"That we'd try and...Uncomplicate."

"And your place-" Quinn starts.

She stops him. "Is complicated. It has...Memories. And I can't- I don't want to go home, not tonight."

"Where do you want me to take you?"

Carrie reaches out for him. "Not home."

He shifts slightly in his stance, feeling lighter on his feet. Quinn rubs at his forehead, and breathes out heavily.

The things that he does for Carrie Mathison.

"Fine, I'll get a taxi."

"I don't want-"

"I won't send you home tonight." Quinn answers. "Just...Stay here."

Carrie leans back against the car, watching silently as Quinn moves unsteadily to hail a taxi. Eventually, he gets one. He helps Carrie in the car first, before getting in and giving the taxi driver instructions. The driver eventually pulls up half a mile outside of Quinn's apartment.

Quinn pays him and thanks him, before he and Carrie stagger out of the car and walk down the quiet streets towards his apartment. It's the only solution. Carrie's too drunk to make it own on herself, and if she doesn't want to go back to her place then he doesn't want to force her. He also doesn't want her to wake up in a strange hotel, so his place it is. She can take the mattress, and he'll take the chair or a spot on the floor.

She continues to mumble quiet, low whispers against his ear. He doesn't catch most of them, but the words that he occasionally hears brings a small smirk to his face. They move slowly up the narrow stairway, laughing quietly. Quinn searches for his key for a few minutes, before finding it and sliding it through the lock. He pushes open the door, breathing in a deep breath of air as he now remembers all the sheets of paper scattered over the apartment. Thankfully, Carrie is far too drunk to notice them so he guides her inside and shuts the door after.

She doesn't take much notice of the apartment, and so he guides her into the small room on the right with the tiny mattress and he eases her down on it.

"You're so-You're good. To me." Carrie mumbles, collapsing against the mattress.

Quinn slips off her shoes, staggering to the ground. He hits it harshly, apparently no longer able to stand on his unsteady, drunken feet.

A small laugh escapes her lips.

"What?" he shoots her an annoyed look, but a small smile breaks through.

"Nothing." Carrie rolls over, releasing a deep sigh. "Nothing..."

More silence fills the room, and neither of them break it. Quinn settles down at the end of the mattress, pressing his back against the wall. He shuts his eyes and feels himself becoming wearier with each passing second. The sound of Carrie's soft breathing fills the room, and he feels himself more at ease with sleeping knowing she won't wake.

Carrie's eyes dart open some time later. She checks her watch, and sees it's only been half an hour and Quinn might not be asleep yet. Her eyes settle down upon Quinn, finding that he has fallen and slumped down against the floor. Carrie watches him closely, for any signs that he might still be awake. Ten minutes pass before she decides to move.

She stands up with ease, and carefully steps over him and out of the room. The floorboards creak slightly as she makes her way out of the room. Documents, sheets and photographs catch her attention. She tucks her hair behind her ears, and glances back at Quinn to find that he continues to rest peacefully.

Carrie was never drunk, and she didn't change from whiskey to vodka - she changed to water. She needed to get into his apartment, and this was the only way. It's because Carrie knows Quinn better than anyone else that she knows when he's hiding something, or when he's lying, and today when she told him that no new information was pulled in on Jonathon Hunter he wasn't surprised. It was like he already knew that, like he'd already done his own research, and being in his apartment with the array of sheets provides confirmation to her thoughts.

Her footsteps are quieter and softer as she crosses his room, and kneels down before the large piles and sheets of paper. Carrie's eyes skim over them speedily and quickly, trying to take in as much detail as she possibly can. Minutes pass her by as she reads document after document, note after note, but she doesn't get nearly as much time as she wanted, or needed, before the silence is broken by an icy cold voice.

Quinn's voice startles her, causing her to jump upwards.

"Good, I thought you were leaving without a note." he looks down at the notes scrunched into the pocket of her jacket. "Looks like you found yourself several."

Those are his notes, and these are his things, and she shouldn't be looking at them. She shouldn't be here - he should've never let her in.

Carrie spins around to him, a frown creased on her features, uncertainty lingering in her eyes. She finds Quinn standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his stomach and a frown plastered on his empty features. His eyes are filled with such doubt and uncertainty. Anger paints his face, but his voice remains steady and surprisingly quiet.

Quinn doesn't wait for her answer, and instead continues.

"You know, I don't really don't know what to be more pissed off about - how poorly you see my abilities to hold down liquor, or the fact that you went to so much trouble, and put on this little fucking charade, to get back to my place just so you could snoop."

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**A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy this new update, and a special thanks for the reviews on chapter 9 :)**

**Guest review:**

**Guest 8/18/13 . chapter 9:** Thanks :) It's good to be back writing this story, and again I'm really sorry about how long it took me to update chapter nine. I hope you enjoy this new chapter! Thank you, I'm glad you thought it was intriguing and writing the scene where Carrie was trying to get into his trouser pocket made me laugh so I'm glad it also made you laugh! Hahaha, sorry that this update took a little longer than two days - but I hope you enjoy it :) thanks again for reading. xx

**Thanks again, and enjoy**

**X**

**P.S Have you seen the Season 3 Homeland trailers?! I can't wait!**


	11. Empty words and numbers

**Disclaimer: Homeland is copyright to Howard Gordon, Alex Gansa and Gideon Raff. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made**

**A/N: I apologise for the note here but I want to inform the reader that this story will stick closely to the characters in the show and therefore it will contain swearing.**

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For the first few minutes complete and total silence rests between them. She finds herself thinking how much Quinn resembles a lion. Rigid and still. Deadly and cold. Eyes hardened and sharp like daggers, settled on its prey while it waits for the perfect moment to launch forward and attack.

The silence is awkward, and painful, and Carrie remains where she stands before him with a guilty expression lingering in her eyes. Her hands rest firmly by her sides, and her pockets bulge with sheets of paper that she'd picked up and shoved away. She doesn't know what's worse about this situation: the silence or the look on his face.

His lips form a crooked smile, which is forced and looks more like a grimace than anything remotely real or genuine, and she feels sick with guilt. Carrie decides now that she prefers the silence. His voice is bitter, and dark, and so much quieter than she believed it might be.

"Quinn..." Carrie takes a slow, almost cautious step towards him. "I can-I can explain."

"Let me guess. It's not what it looks like?"

"No." she shakes her head, causing her hair to fall in front of her face.

Carrie tucks it behind her ears. "It's exactly what it looks like."

"Please, don't stop on my account, Carrie." he says, through gritted teeth.

Then he gestures towards the table, and his smile disappears. "The good stuff's over there. You're just sorting through crap here. Come on, let's take a look. Why don't we go through it together?"

For several long, drawn out seconds Carrie stands still and stiff. Shifting awkwardly underneath Peter Quinn's intense and heavy gaze. She takes a step to the right, towards the table, and the inevitable snap happens.

"What, are you out of your _fucking_ mind?!" he shouts angrily, a furious smile sweeping his features. "Put down my papers and get the fuck out of my apartment, now!"

She doesn't move. "No, I'm not leaving. I don't know what's going on here, Quinn, but something is happening here."

"Get out, Carrie."

"No."

"Don't think I won't drag you out, because I will." he threatens.

She stands her ground, despite that she knows he would do that.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on."

Quinn's eyes are empty, and his voice is dangerously low, when he next meets her gaze and speaks.

"If you think this isn't serious, Carrie, then you _are_ out of your fucking mind. Get the hell out of my apartment."

"Quinn, whatever's going on-"

"I think it's pretty clear what's going on, Carrie." he cuts over her.

She nods quickly, her eyes darting over the piles and rows of paper. "It is, to me. You're in some deep shit. Look at yourself, and look at this place. You've got papers everywhere. They're just..It's cluttered, and it's not you. This isn't you."

"I don't think you have any sort of right to say that this isn't me."

"I do." Carrie answers loudly. "I know you, okay? And this is just...What is this?"

"It's none of your fucking business. That's what this is."

"It is my business if it concerns Joseph Parker. What are you looking into him for, Quinn? I've already been there. There's nothing there. I just - I know there's something else going on here, there's more to this situation but it's not...It's not clear. But I know it's there."

"How do you know, Carrie?" his entire body becomes stiffer. "How could you possibly know?"

"Because I know you! When we were standing in front of the board, and I told you that we had nothing new on Parker you didn't even blink and I was right." she digs into the pocket of her jacket, and pulls out a bunch of files. "You already knew that. You were already looking deeper into him, and his father, and you were already looking into all the possible and relevant Jonathon Hunter's."

Quinn snatches the papers from her hands, quickly fumbling through them to show her that they are all irrelevant, little documents and pieces of paper that don't hold any answer.

"There's nothing here!" he yells. "Nothing at all! So, I guess your hunched failed. I don't have anything."

"Why are you looking deeper-"

"It's my job." he shrugs effortlessly.

She doesn't believe it for a second. "It's more than that. I mean, it has to be."

Disbelief crosses his face.

"So-So, what, all of that bullshit and all those lies about not wanting to be reminded about Brody, and needing me, and saying I was good to you - it was all just to get in here and snoop. Right? They were all lies, and bullshit. I should have known. Right? I should have known that you weren't afraid of being reminded of Brody. No, you love the reminders of him, don't you?! And let me just say that this act...God. What a waste of fucking time and energy, Carrie!" he half laughs. "Because you could have just asked, and I would have told you that I have nothing. If you had _just_ asked, I would've told you."

"I don't believe that." she shakes her head repeatedly. "I don't, I'm sorry but you didn't tell me. And I shouldn't have to ask."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"It means that trust goes both ways, Quinn." Carrie crosses her arms. "I can't trust you unless you trust me."

He swallows tightly, his eyes skimming over the room searching for anything else she may have picked up or read. When he looks back to her, she remains rigid and frozen in the same spot. She makes no attempt to remove the pieces of paper from her pockets, and instead of looking away she stares directly at him.

"I know." she says suddenly, somehow forming the words.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She didn't want to talk to him about this here, or now, or maybe even ever but the words spill out and she can't control them even if she'd wanted to. They fall out of her mouth and they can't come back.

"Saul, and I...We know."

"Know what, Carrie?" he asks, sounding irritated.

"You've been strained, these past weeks."

"I told you-"

"I know, it's not because of the shooting. We know that. You've been...Different."

Quinn remains the picture of emptiness. His voice is dull and low when as he continues.

"What are you getting at, Carrie?"

"What I'm getting at is...You need to take a break." she half smiles. "A proper break, not a few days."

"I don't need that." he inches closer to her. "But I do need something else.."

Quinn angrily reaches into her pockets filled with papers and pulls them out, tossing them carelessly to the ground. Some fall and hit the ground immediately, while others float or hover for a second before eventually, and inevitable, hitting the bottom.

"What I need, Carrie, is for you to walk out of that door. Right now."

Carrie holds her ground. "I know about John."

He holds his breath.

"And what happened.."

"I know that, Carrie."

She frowns. "What? Wait, you knew that we did?"

"You had his picture up on the board, Carrie. It's pretty easy-"

"No, Quinn." her expression falls, and then softens. "I didn't mean Jonathon Hunter. I meant, John Jr. Your son."

The ground feels like it has shifted from beneath his feet. His surroundings feel shaky, and he finds it hard to steady his breathing. But on the outside he's still cold, still empty. Words fail him, so his eyes drop to the ground and he stares at the scattered papers in an attempt to focus everything that he has on these shreds of paper and empty words instead of the hollow pain that grows and deepens in his body. It starts in his chest, and rises and spreads throughout him.

Carrie might have spoken, but he didn't hear it. She might have crossed the room to his side, but he didn't see it. She could even have touched him, laid a hand on his body, but he didn't feel it. For a moment there was nothing. No sound, no sight and no feelings. Everything was empty. Dark. An abyss that drew him in, and he wanted it to take him and claim him. He wanted to belong to the abyss, because then the absence of light wouldn't be so painful. Life wouldn't be so painful.

"Well..." the word scrapes the inside of his throat, leaving him with a copper taste on his tongue. "If that's all for tonight, you know where the door is."

She tries to fight it. "You can't expect me to-"

"Find the door?" he lifts an eyebrow. "It's right on your left, Carrie. Or were you too busy playing drunk to take notice of it?"

She inches closer. "I don't want to leave you, like this."

"I'm fine, and I don't need you here."

"You're not." Carrie responds instantly. "You're grieving."

"But I'm not."

"Quinn, it's a natural, human emotion."

_Human_. To him, being human meant to be constantly subjected to pain and agony, loss and grief. He finds himself often wishing that he weren't, or that he were stronger so he didn't have to feel.

"I won't leave you alone, and I won't let you down. Not when you need somebody."

"When?" he ignores her words completely.

He doesn't need her here, and he doesn't need anyone else. He's always been fine on his own, and he always will be.

Her frown deepens.

"When did you find out about him?" he asks, incapable of simply saying his name.

"Last week. Saul and I were..Worried."

"The concern is touching, Carrie, but completely unnecessary."

"It's not unnecessary, we just...I wanted to approach it carefully, and then that shit went down with Brody and I was worried." she sighs nervously, running her fingers through her hair. "Look, Quinn-"

"And then you accused me of being a terrorist, so I guess the window of opportunity to talk about it was kind of narrow, huh?"

She falters. "Who is Sajid Elbahi?"

Bile rises in his throat.

"How do you know that name, Carrie?"

"Who is he, Quinn? Enough with all of this fucking secrecy. Trust me, okay? Trust me like I trust you."

"Trust you?" he nearly laughs at the absurdity of it. "Trust you, who accused me of working with Nazir? Trust you, who put on a sick fucking charade to get up here to snoop through my things - on Saul's terms, I'm guessing. Or was it just coincidence that you didn't ask anyone else out for a drink? Just me. Trust you, who has bugs in my fucking apartment-"

"I don't have a bug in here, Quinn. I didn't know you lived here until tonight."

"Then how do you know that name?" he shouts. "How?!"

"Where did you get it?" she crosses her arms. "Answer mine and I'll answer yours."

"It doesn't work like that. You know that."

"It was on a scrap of paper, Quinn, along with a lot of irrelevant shit. How did - Who is Sajid Elbahi?"

"Nobody." he shrugs.

"That's bullshit. You don't just think up a random name, without reason to."

"Go on, then."

"What?"

"Ask me."

"What?!" her eyes narrow in on him.

"Ask me if I'm working with Nazir."

"I'll never ask you that, Quinn. Never again, I promise. It was a mistake before, okay? I take responsibility for that, and I'm sorry, but you need to take responsibility for this situation and you need to realise that if you are keeping shit from me, or from the CIA, then you are risking more innocent lives. You're stopping us from getting at Nazir's guys."

"The name leads nowhere. Alright?! It doesn't lead down any path, but you know - My door leads to the street, so feel free to go follow that and see where it takes you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Quinn lifts his hand to his creased forehead and rubs it. "Carrie...Leave. I'm not talking about this with you."

"Then talk to someone."

"Get out."

"Who is Sajid Elbahi? Did you get his name off Nazir?"

"What aren't you hearing? Get the fuck out, Carrie. Keep the papers in your pockets, Carrie. They're irrelevant, and they lead nowhere. But feel free to take them, because you sure aren't taking anything else. Open the door, shut it on your way out, and don't come back."

"Quinn, we-"

"I'll see you on Monday, Carrie."

"Quinn."

"You know, actually, up until this conversation - I would have asked you to stay. A part of me would have wanted you here, to stay with me, but you know what? That is long gone, Carrie, and I'm sure you want to know why so I'll tell you. I don't want you here because you didn't want to come here, because right now I can't even fucking stand looking at you. I don't want you here because of the way that you can _so_ easily shift the topic of conversation from my dead son, to Sajid Elbahi, without even blinking! You didn't falter. You didn't even wait one fucking minute, so I guess that shows where your priorities are. I'm not going to ask you to leave again."

Carrie falters, her eyes burning with tears as she takes a step closer to him. Quinn instantly takes a step back, just as she'd believed he might. He doesn't even look at her, his eyes are resting somewhere else. He's not here right now, he's somewhere else entirely. Carrie considers walking up to him, to wrapping her arms around him or comforting him, but instead she walks to the door pausing once she has reached it.

She lingers in the doorway, turning back to him slowly.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. I am. I didn't know how to approach you about it."

Quinn closes his eyes weakly, his eyes burning with the threat of tears. He shakes his head, and lifts his hand to the bridge of his nose where he pinches it tightly.

"Good night, Carrie."

She doesn't know how to answer him, so she doesn't. Instead, Carrie rushes out of the apartment feeling horrible. She angrily wipes the tears from her face, struggling with every passing step to not turn around and go back to him. On her way out she bumps into a tall, dark haired man who apologises and keeps moving forward. She doesn't apologise because she doesn't notice him until he's gone.

Carrie finds herself out on the streets, deep feelings of guilt and confusion swirling around inside of her. She casts a look up at the apartment building, to the window that she knows is his, and she can almost imagine him standing there so still and so stiff. Her breathing hitches, and she wipes away the remnants of tears before pulling herself together and walking away.

But what she pictures of Quinn, standing still in his apartment with his eyes still resting on the ground, is a false image. It's what she wants to see, what she wants to believe is happening, because the alternative is too painful. The reality is too painful.

Quinn kneels regretfully on the ground, attempting to ignore the shooting pains in his knee as he scoops up fragments and sheets of paper. He has to leave this apartment, he knows that now, but he can't leave without packing up. He struggles to collect all the files, and slams his fists against the table in frustration. The sound of the door creaking behind him causes him to sigh loudly, and he spins around but only finds emptiness.

The door is open, cracked wide open, but no one stands there. He walks slowly towards it, his voice rising in the silence.

"Carrie? I thought I told you to leave."

When he reaches the open door he peers out of it, but finds no one. Swearing that he shut the door, he's quick to search his apartment but finds only emptiness.

_You're going out of your mind_, he tells himself. _It was just the wind._

And then he sees it, a small piece of paper sticking to the floorboards just outside of his door. Newspaper. It's been scrunched up and taped to the ground. He kneels down and picks it up slowly, peering outside into the dark hallways but only finding more emptiness. He shrugs it off, closes the door and locks it, and tosses the shred down on the table.

_It's nothing,_ Quinn first thinks, _a shred of garbage._

Then he catches something, handwriting scrawled on it.

The handwriting reads: **851216.**

Quinn leaves his cane behind and moves towards his door. He unlocks it, and checks the hallways twice before moving as quickly as he can down them. He moves faster than he thought he was capable, because the adrenaline in his body pushes him forward. He comes down the staircase quickly, sliding down it with the use of the handrail, he bursts out of the front doors of the apartment and into the busy street of the night.

He sees Carrie still standing on the edge of the street, but ignores her and spins around in search of a figure. A face. Someone or anyone that might have left this at his door. She calls out to him but he pretends he doesn't here her.

"What are you doing, Quinn? What are you looking for?"

"Not what, who." he snaps, still searching.

Quinn breathes inwards heavily, his eyes darting around for any possible sign. He finds nothing, and kicks his foot against the pavement in frustration.

"Did you see anyone come out of that building?" he turns to her. "Did you see anyone step out of that building, Carrie? Were you looking?"

Carrie's eyes move over him slowly, and she shakes her head.

"No, I didn't. I wasn't looking. Why? What happened?"

Quinn swallows down on his anger, and his pride, and he turns to her with an empty look in his eyes.

"I think you were right, Carrie." he says, through teeth which are gritted tightly. "No one could track me to this followed us tonight. They either followed me, or you. You were right."

"What do you mean? What was I right about?" she frowns instantly.

"Someone knows I was the one who shot Nazir, and they aren't happy about it."

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**A/N: **_Hi! I'm really sorry about the late update, I hit a block with this and wasn't really happy with anything that I wrote until this version of the chapter. I also apologise for any errors I missed, I have re-read this but I probably missed something..._

_Thank you to the kind guest reviewers of chapter 10; indigovioletstargazer, LondynNow, CSI Encyclopedia & the guest review :)_

_**Guest review: **Dear, Guest. :) I'm sorry to dash your hopes! The 'sleep-under' will eventually happen, even if it doesn't seem like it right now. I am really sorry that this chapter didn't come soon at all, and I promise I'll update chapter 12 much sooner. I can't wait until the season 3 premiere. I think it will probably end up making me more motivated to write this and probably spark a bunch more ideas. Anyway, thank you for reading it means so much to me. I'm really sorry about the wait again, and wishing you all the best. xx Season 3 is almost here._

_Thanks for reading & enjoy.._


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